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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494935">The Pains of Growing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tufted/pseuds/tufted'>tufted</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Almost Coffeeshop AU 'verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(they're dating), Alternate Universe- Jeff isn't in the NHL, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackmail, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Miscommunication used as a plot device, Panic Attacks, Therapy, Trigger warnings:, car crash not described in detail, character death off screen (not a main character), friends with benefits who definitely aren't dating, slowburn-ish, somebody threatened to be outed, unhealthy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:56:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>86,741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tufted/pseuds/tufted</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And look, Jeff gets it, he knows he’s met Kent before. Both on the ice and off. Although it is a bit disorienting to see him without the shadow that had been Jack Zimmermann. It takes a lot to keep a straight face at that thought, because in the end neither him nor Zimmermann had made it to the show. Only Kent has and Kent’s currently staring at him and Jeff’s staring right back and-</p><p>“Shit!”</p><p>Yeah that had definitely come from Kent whose face is screwed up in pain right now and oh yeah, he’s still pouring coffee. Fuck.</p><p>------------</p><p>Or the almost coffeeshop AU nobody asked for</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kent "Parse" Parson/Jeff "Swoops" Troy, Minor background Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Scraps (Check Please!)/Original Female Character(s), former Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Almost Coffeeshop AU 'verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this work is something that's been in process since mid-July after I read through the entire Jeff/Kent tag and was still left wanting more. So I ended up spending a total of 4 months writing roughly 80k in response to that feeling. Anyway, this fic is finished however currently I plan on updating this fic twice a week as I still need to go back and edit it. As for the content warnings tagged I'll put them before chapters they each relate to.</p><p>As for a warning this chapter, there is a panic attack described in the second half of this chapter after the break, as well as a mention of a car crash happening off screen.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It starts on a rainy day, as all awful things do. It’s not even a particularly heavy downpour, but since it’s Vegas it’s still a stark contrast against the normal sun. And of course he can’t even be allowed to enjoy this reprieve. Not when the current Aces captain is staring up at him from the table he’s sitting at while his coffee is being refilled.</p><p>And look, Jeff gets it, he knows he’s met Kent before. Both on the ice and off. Although it is a bit disorienting to see him without the shadow that had been Jack Zimmermann. It takes a lot to keep a straight face at that thought, because in the end neither him nor Zimmermann had made it to the show. Only Kent has and Kent’s currently staring at him and Jeff’s staring right back and-</p><p>“Shit!”</p><p>Yeah that had definitely come from Kent whose face is screwed up in pain right now and oh yeah, he’s still pouring coffee. Fuck.</p><p>“Shit sorry,” he says, righting the carafe. </p><p>That’s his first mistake, his second is lumbering off with a mumble about obtaining napkins. Because really, he has a towel slung in the front of his apron, that’s what it’s literally there for. By the time Jeff remembers this he assumes that’s why Kent’s heavy gaze has followed him. But instead of chirping him for that mess up all he gets is a gaping mouth and incredulous stare. </p><p>“Swoops?” Kent asks voice barely above a whisper even though they’re the only two in the whole shop.</p><p>Jeff flinches, which is his third mistake. He hasn’t heard that name since before his drop off into obscurity. Nobody nicknames the manager of the coffee shop who’s boring enough to not indulge in the splendors of Vegas. Especially not when this town hadn’t really been a hockey town until Kent motherfuckin’ Parson showed up and won the goddamn Stanley Cup and yeah, he’s been wiping the same spot for the last who knows how long and Kent’s smirking.</p><p>He looks up at a Kent who’s really pretty even if he is a little shit. Which fair, Jeff did just spill coffee on him during whatever you could consider that weird stare off. If he wanted to analyze introspectively he might even consider the fact that he wanted Kent to figure it out. But he tries to live surface side these days so he doesn’t.</p><p>“Would you like a scone?” Jeff asks instead of answering.</p><p>Kent lifts an eyebrow as if to ask <i>what the fuck man?</i></p><p>“I spilled coffee on you. Would you like a scone?” he repeats.</p><p>“Dude, if you’re not him, just say so. You just looked familiar and your accent is definitely not from around here.” He pauses, “that’s all.”</p><p>Jeff shrugs, “Lots of people aren’t from around here.” Then he points at his chest where his nametag rests. “Name’s Jeff.”</p><p>Kent’s brow furrows but he doesn’t say anything. In the end he pays for his coffee after he finishes it, leaves too large a tip and doesn’t request the offered scone. In that order.</p><p>Jeff locks up eventually and thinks nothing of his encounter. Because he’s not superstitious but everyone knows all bad things come in threes. And besides, it’s since stopped raining.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent’s not having a grand time, which is an understatement but that’s just how it is these days. Sleep’s just not coming and not for the first time he wonders if this is how Jack had felt. The constant pressure and anxiety sitting like a heavy stone in a stomach, the resulting spiral that keeps him awake for hours. </p><p>God, he’s such a shit person. He should’ve done more for Jack. This is probably his penance for not helping his <i>whatever-they-were</i> more. He laughs despondently. Jack went to rehab and transferred the anxiety to Kent. He chokes out a half sob.   </p><p>He turns to flop on his back. He really should’ve gone out with the guys. He had begged off yet again, endured the chirps saying that the C had changed him and watched Scraps’ face change from hesitantly hopeful to resigned and grim. He knows Scraps is worried about him but it’s not like he can really do anything about that. Except get more sleep and then start rejoining the guys but that requires actually getting sleep which he’s not doing and he’s having trouble breathing now which means this is probably a panic attack and that’s cool because he can’t breathe.</p><p>He lays still until the once cool sheets turn molten around him, which he only notices once his breathing is somewhat regulated and he can feel the tears springing up at the corners of his eyes. He needs to do something, anything. He swings his legs off the side of the hotel bed, stumbling only slightly trying to reach the bathroom. The cold water splashed on his face does nothing besides force him to stare at himself through a speckled reflection. Fuck. He feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin.</p><p>Using the light from the bathroom he manages to make his way to his bag somewhat stably. Pulling his laptop out he heads for the bed again. If he’s going to spiral, then nothing’s really off limits tonight. Or at least, that’s the fucked up logic he’s decided to rely on. </p><p>He still feels a little guilty when he starts googling.</p><p>Opening up a note app to run in the background so he can add his findings, Kent starts straight-forward. “Swoops” he googles which just returns information about a chocolate candy that is nowhere near his diet plan. Off to a rough start he notes but continues because he feels like he’s finally doing something and his anxiety is settling slightly.</p><p>“Swoops hockey” he tries next. Some hockey player born in the 40’s is returned and that’s definitely not the Swoops he’s searching for, but he makes note of it anyway just to make it look like he’s made some form of progress.</p><p>He flushes. Yeah he’s an idiot. The guy at the coffee shop (because while he’s sitting at 75% sure that he’s somebody that used to play hockey with him, the guy hadn’t actually confirmed) had only pointed out his nametag. </p><p>He’d also flinched but that could mean anything. </p><p>“Jeff Swoops hockey” he types in next. He lets out a sigh of relief when he realizes that Jeff must’ve been good enough to net attention from the press about his draft, a small presser in Canada about the good ol’ boy competing against the odds to make it to the big show. Kent tries not to snort because half the league has to be Canadian but he forges on.</p><p>There’s no information about Jeff going to the draft and that’s puzzling. He’s intrigued now and not about to stop anytime soon. Entering in Jeff’s full name, thanks to the article, and attaching Jeff’s hometown as an afterthought he doesn’t end up at wikipedia but instead an obituary. </p><p>His heart stops cold. Yeah Jack isn’t dead but he might as well be with how he acts when it comes to Kent nowadays. </p><p>A Jeff Troy Sr. has long since been departed with the date of the funeral placed at the beginning of June 2007. Which if he does the math is right before what would’ve been Jeff’s draft and holy shit he probably dropped out because of his dad. </p><p>Kent grimaces, if he wasn’t such a selfish bastard he would’ve dropped out of the draft. He should’ve dropped out of the draft. Supported Jack. Maybe Jack would still be speaking to him. He sighs and closes his laptop softly before shucking it off to the side table next to the hotel bed. He had never even bothered to turn on the lamp, instead relying on the harsh glow emanating from the bathroom. </p><p>“You and me both,” he says to the light. Which probably doesn’t even make sense but it’s something to say so he does it anyway. </p><p>He flops onto his back. He wishes he could be a better person, but he’s not. So here he’ll lay weighed down with all the information that he’s collected. Rolling over he sniffs and tries not to cry but his pillow begins to feel wet so he probably failed at that too. </p><p>Eventually when he does slip into the darkness of sleep he doesn’t even notice. There’s not much of a difference between awake and dreaming when both are plagued with nightmares.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, uh, in my haste to upload the first chapter (I literally finished the entire thing the day I uploaded it and then went and edited the first chapter in between classes) I forgot to do some housekeeping. </p><p>So first! Thanks to everyone who's read the whole thing from beginning to end. You know who you are &lt;3 and frankly I probably wouldn't have completed this without the support and encouragement. Also thanks for being sounding boards since the beginning! There are several parts in this story that would not have been written if I hadn't been allowed to spew thoughts in the chat haha.</p><p>Second- The title of the story is based on the album of the same title by Alessia Cara. It's one of the first albums I listened to on repeat to write the first couple chapters until I created a playlist with other songs that fit the vibe. The title was honestly a working one until roughly halfway through. When I finally shared what the short hand "TPoG" stood for to my beta readers. They liked it, so it stayed.</p><p>Third- if you want to vibe to the fic's <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5tU02UOVo6sTXbWq7Q43Mo?si=N8pZtsbkTxuaaGUXjLHAmQ">playlist</a> you're more than welcome to. There's no real rhyme or reason for the order and I normally listen to it on shuffle, so take that as you will.</p><p>And finally, I'm going to start putting content warnings/trigger warnings in the end notes so as to not spoil the chapter. So with that being said- there are content/trigger warnings for this chapter in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff rolls over to the sound of his phone ringing. Not an alarm, it’s still at least an hour before that’s supposed to go off. He groans when he realizes who’s calling. Well at least his mother actually managed to wait until closer to when he’s supposed to wake up and didn’t call him at 4 am his time. That had been an awkward call, what with him trying to remind her that she was three hours ahead of him while she had just continued going on about how was she to know that when he never called. He always answered without complaint now, even if he purposely kept their conversations shorter.</p><p>“Jeff!” she exclaims.</p><p>He huffs out a laugh into the speaker. She always acted as though she was surprised he had actually answered. Which was ridiculous because of course he would. He still loved her. He just needed space. Another country and multiple time zones away sometimes didn’t feel like enough, but it helped.</p><p>“Hi mom,” he exhales through a yawn.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Waking up,” he mutters through his hand that he’s currently sliding down his face. He’s never been a morning person, or at least not when he’s been woken up abruptly before his alarm has gone off.</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Which is a lie but neither of them bring attention to that fact. “I supposed I should let you go to get ready then?” she asks. He knows it’s an out that she gives him, likely hoping that he’ll stay one of these days. He always takes it.</p><p>“Yeah probably,” he responds in kind.</p><p>“You should call later when you’re free.” It’s an in, and he recognizes it as such. One that she’s hoping he’ll take her up on. He never does.</p><p>“Yeah, sounds good.” It’s a non-committal answer, basically a lie. Neither mention it.</p><p>He shuffles out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. Coffee’s already on which means that his condomate is awake. He pours himself a cup and dumps way too much of the fancy creamer that’s meant for the condomate into his coffee. He takes a sip and inhales the scent. It’s awful grocery store coffee and yet it’s still better than the shit they shill out at his work. </p><p>“And you said you didn’t like creamer in your coffee,” a voice to his left pipes up.</p><p>Jeff smirks while he takes another sip. “I never said that I didn’t like creamer. Just that I could live without it.”</p><p>His condomate snorts. “Same thing.”</p><p>He lets himself actually smile now. If he can’t bring himself to talk to his real family, his condomate, a 70 something year old widowed retiree makes for a good impromptu grandmother. “Good morning to you too Beatrice,” he announces as he turns and joins her at the round table at the end of the kitchen.</p><p>“The last person to call me Beatrice was my mother-in-law and every day I’m glad that the old bat is gone,” she replies in kind.</p><p>Jeff takes another sip of his coffee before setting it down on the weathered grain of the table. “That’s terrible,” he deadpans. It’s an old argument that they’ve had countless times and the easy rapport they have provides comfort.</p><p>She smacks him with the paperback novel that’s currently in her hands and Jeff can’t help it. He grins.</p><p>“There! I knew I could get you to smile. You’re too grouchy all the time.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m grouchy?” he counters. “I’m not the person who complains about being called by my name.”</p><p>“You’re lucky I don’t want to take the time to add the extra syllable and call you Jeffrey instead of Jeff.”</p><p>“Ah, so we’re going with laziness today, instead of yesterday’s reasoning in that you’re a saint on Earth,” he chirps back. </p><p>Beatrice smiles primly before taking a sip of her also blonde coffee and returning to her novel, “Correct.”</p><p>“Ah I see today we’re reading Lord of Scoundrels.”</p><p>Beatrice quirks an eyebrow at him, “And?”</p><p>“Nothing, I’m sure the plot is riveting.”</p><p>“The plot is fantastic. It’s long-”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m going to stop you right there. I’ve got to head out to work.” With that he drops the mug he’d been using in the sink. He’ll get it when he gets back from work. He only has a half day shift anyway and there’s only so much sitting around and doing nothing that he can stand.</p><p>He gets his bedroom door halfway closed before he hears her call after him, “Hey, Jeff.”</p><p>“Yeah?” he asks, popping his head out of the door.</p><p>“If you ever need me to be out of the way for plot, just say the word.” Her gaze appears more pointed than usual.</p><p>He manages to sputter out, “And where would you go?” taking it for the innuendo he knows full well she means.</p><p>“Well my bedroom if you can be quiet,” she responds straight-faced losing any previous pretense. “Otherwise, Mr. Anderson is quite generous with his time.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, Birdie.”</p><p>“Don’t say the Lord’s name in vain! But glad to see you using my actual name for once.”</p><p>Jeff rolls his eyes. “What Jesus Christ or Birdie?”</p><p>“Why Jesus Christ of course.”</p><p>He nearly chokes at that. “You can’t say shit like that after basically admitting to fucking our neighbor.”</p><p>“I said nothing of the sort. All I said was that he was generous with his time. Something Jesus was known for appreciating.”</p><p>And yup, that’s enough of that. He’s definitely not following that line of thought any further than the full stop he’s already brought it too.</p><p>“Oh my God, you know what, I’m just, I’m just going to go.”</p><p>“Lord’s name!”</p><p>“Work!”</p><p>Jeff doesn’t slam the door shut, but it is a close thing. He takes a deep breath to steady himself against the back of it. He loves Birdie, he really does, but sometimes she’s just a bit much. Like for example the whole thing with Mr. Anderson. He’s never going to be able to look at their neighbor the same ever again. </p><p>After a moment he goes to get ready. He’ll likely be early if he times the buses correctly, but that’s always better than late. Besides, he’ll probably be able to work some more on the problem that is trying to convince the owners to buy better coffee beans. If the shop doesn’t close down that means he gets to keep his job and honestly, that’s incentive enough on its own.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent doesn’t mean to go back to the coffee shop, which is a bald faced lie, but it’s one he repeats to himself nonetheless. He’d like to think that he has more self-control than that, but given his track record with Jack he recognizes the truth.</p><p>Which is why, by the time he’s reached the front of the coffee shop he’s already rehearsed how he hopes the conversation will play out at least ten times. Although he’s since lost count so he muses that it could be more, before he begins again from the top. </p><p>That all goes to shit when he runs into Jeff coming out of the front door.</p><p>“Hello to you too,” Jeff rumbles, Kent’s face firmly smashed against his chest.</p><p>Kent’s brain short circuits and he backs up mute. This hadn’t been part of the plan in the slightest. It’s only mid-day, and he’d been hoping to catch Jeff behind the register to ask him about the scone he’d been offered last time. It’s not necessarily the best idea he’s ever had but it’s also the only in he has besides blurting out that he wants to offer his condolences about a dead dad. </p><p>“Uh, hi,” he says instead of acknowledging any of his thoughts, cringing inwardly at how lame he sounds.</p><p>Jeff nods in acknowledgement before continuing to walk past him down the street.</p><p>“Wait!” Kent calls after him. “I wanted to ask about the scone?” his voice ends on a higher note than it started out at.</p><p>Jeff turns around to squint at him. “Oh, uh, I’m kind of off the clock right now.”</p><p>And because Kent is apparently a masochist he just nods, and forges on ahead. “Ha, yeah I mean I see that. Let me walk you to your car instead?”</p><p>Something indecipherable flashes across Jeff’s face before it’s schooled into hesitant neutrality. “Took the bus.”</p><p>“Cars not really your speed?” Kent chirps trying to settle into a ribbing rapport. That at least he can work with and has experience in.</p><p>Jeff shrugs, “Something like that.”</p><p>“I’ll walk you to the bus station then,” Kent affirms, trying to feel braver than he actually is. He can hear his heartbeat in his ear and the staccato rhythm is making it hard to concentrate on the conversation at hand.</p><p>Jeff quirks an eyebrow. “You don’t have to,” a pause, “I wouldn’t want to take you away from that fancy car of yours.”</p><p>Kent tries not to grimace, is pretty sure he’s failed based on the quiet smirk that appears on Jeff’s face and goes to shrug nonchalantly. He’s 90% sure that Jeff sees through the façade but he’s in too deep at this rate. “It can wait.”</p><p>He doesn’t bother mentioning that it hasn’t left the garage in well over a year. He has a more discreet car that he uses nowadays. His convertible had been an impulse buy with his signing bonus, likely based around trying to prove himself. For what? He only thinks about that late at night when he’s spiraling. It’s midday and Jeff’s here so that meltdown will have to wait.</p><p>Jeff turns around motioning with his shoulder for Kent to follow. It takes a moment for Kent to recognize it and he has to jog slightly to catch up. “Jesus, you’re fast,” he half pants when he does.</p><p>“Nah, just tall.”</p><p>And yeah that’s fair. He’s well over 6 feet if his estimate's correct, as well as built wide everywhere. Even if he hadn’t played against him, he’s pretty positive Jeff “Swoops” Troy would’ve been a D-man. As it is, he’s almost 100% sure he’d been slammed against the boards by him back in the Q.</p><p>“Made you good on defense though,” he hedges.</p><p>Jeff’s pace slows and Kent gulps in the dry air with the reprieve. He glances down at Kent before setting his mouth in a thin line. “Yeah, something like that.”</p><p>Before Kent can stop himself he blurts out, “I just wanted to say- what you did was, I mean dropping out of the-”</p><p>“Please stop.”</p><p>There’s heartbreak in Jeff’s eyes and Kent feels like he’s staring into a mirror. The haunted look of being caught, or almost caught too many times to count in his case, he knows all too well. Kent can understand not wanting to lose hockey. Jack did and it almost destroyed him. Not like staying’s much better. He stayed and it’s currently destroying him. There’s no right answer even if Jeff did take the moral high ground.</p><p>Kent nods mechanically, words of comfort getting stuck in his throat. He’d only ever fucked Jack up. Jeff doesn’t need that. Jeff’s currently untainted and he isn’t keen on making the same mistake twice.</p><p>Kent keeps his gaze on the ground, the silence uncomfortable until he runs into Jeff, again. He looks up, right- bus stop.</p><p>“Well, this is my stop,” Jeff begins. </p><p>“Right, because you didn’t want a ride in my fancy car.”</p><p>“Cars aren’t really my thing.” It has a practiced apathetic feel to it. Kent understands more than he cares to admit so he lets it slide.</p><p>“Eco-friendly, hunh?”</p><p>A smile that feels more real than anything else flits across Jeff’s face. Kent feels his stomach take a deep dive into fuzzy feelings and the roaring returns to his ears. “Something like that,” Jeff responds.</p><p>“Uh, do you have a phone?” Kent begins before he can babble anything more incriminating. Like how nice Jeff’s eyes look right now. And yeah, it’s been roughly five years since Jack and him were something and two since he even laid his gaze on him in person but he’s nothing if not loyal. He’s still in love with Jack, but it can’t hurt to be friends with Jeff. Maybe Jeff will teach him to be better. Doesn’t really matter, he just needs a friend. He feels too burdened by his captaincy to really be anybody’s friend on his team and at least Jeff will understand hockey. And yeah he’s spiraling.</p><p>Jeff’s blinking at him in a slow easy way that’s only accentuated by the hazy heat of the desert. “Sorry, can you repeat that?” Kent asks when he realizes that Jeff’s waiting for a response from him.</p><p>“I said that I didn’t have one because I didn’t want to bother getting with the times.”</p><p>“Oh, shit, sorry I should’ve thought that through befo-”</p><p>“Kent, it was a joke. A chirp. You know, hockey?”</p><p>Kent can feel himself flush. He hopes that Jeff attributes it to the heat. He’s always hated how easy it was to fluster him outside of the rink. Another reason to stay away from the chirps from his teammates that might hit too close to home and then what?</p><p>“Yeah, I just-”</p><p>Jeff at least decides to pity him. “Kent it’s fine.” A sly smile crawls across his features. “Was that your attempt at asking for my number?”</p><p>Kent makes his own play at nonchalance. “Figured you might want to come to a game sometime.”</p><p>Jeff sucks in a heavy breath before blowing it out just as slowly. “I mean I-”</p><p>Kent cuts him off again, “Or we could just hang out sometime somewhere else. It was just an idea. I just don’t have people to give tickets to-”</p><p>“You don’t?” Jeff cuts in again.</p><p>“Yeah, uh, family’s back in New York.” He rubs a hand against the back of his neck. His hair has long since dried from the shower after morning skate but the sweat forming is definitely working against him in that regard. </p><p>Both are silent for a beat before Jeff speaks up. “Here give me your phone, I’ll add my number. You know, if you ever want that scone and you’re not sure if I’ll be working.”</p><p>Kent fishes it out of his pockets and when he looks up at Jeff, who’s still towering over him as he inputs his number, he swears he sees him wink. Kent looks away, silently willing his blush to stay down. He’s already outed himself to someone else besides Jack and he just really does not need to add anyone else to the list. Especially not somebody who was likely privy to how he and Jack acted back in the Q up close and personal.</p><p>“Well, there you go,” Jeff announces as he hands the phone back. A smiley face has been sent to a number he doesn’t recognize and to what he assumes is Jeff’s.</p><p>“Your number?” he clarifies even as he feels dumb for doing so.</p><p>Jeff just responds with a cheeky smile and a, “Yup,” that he pops the p on. </p><p>He doesn’t pull out his phone for proof, but for whatever reason, Kent believes him. Probably the whole taking the high road thing lending to his credibility, or whatever. Definitely not because he desperately <i>wants</i> to believe him. </p><p>“Ah, alright, good,” Kent fumbles over his words, but gets them out nonetheless.</p><p>Jeff smiles at him and Kent tries not to think about how his heart stopped working for a split second. “Well, I’ve gotta go,” he begins.</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“The bus is here.”</p><p>He’s not quite right, the bus is a little way off at the stop before this one. But he probably has to get prepared to board so he lets him off without comment. “Yeah, of course.”</p><p>“Anyway,” he says when the bus finally stops in front of them and opens its doors, “see ya around.”</p><p>Kent watches the bus leave down the street until it turns a corner. Until he’s left with just his thoughts and a walk back to his car in the sweltering desert sun. Yeah he’s fucked.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
  <li>Kent doesn't have a panic attack, but does allude to likely having one later and does start spiraling instead.</li>
  <li>Kent mentions the car crash in sparse details as well as Jeff's deceased father in his thoughts while talking to Jeff.</li>
</ol><p>Fun fact: The book Birdie's reading is a real book, I just googled historical romance and it was one of the first ones that came up. I have not actually read it.</p><p>Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me? Uploading this chapter because I'm procrastinating my homework? More likely than you'd think.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger warnings in the end notes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff’s halfway through a game of solitaire that’s looking promising when he hears his phone buzz. He glances up from the cards laid out on the weathered table and pauses when he notices who it’s from.</p>
<p>Birdie looks up from the puzzle she’s currently working on at the other half. “You going to answer that?”</p>
<p>Part of him wants to. Another part of him isn’t sure how to respond to a single word followed by question marks. What does one say to a conversation starter that’s just: <b>Scone???</b></p>
<p>Finally he relents because Birdie an unfortunately smug smile is starting to unfurl across her features. “Uh, yeah,” he answers dumbly.</p>
<p><b>Store’s closed</b>, he quickly types out. </p>
<p>The dots showing that Kent’s typing back a response already come up instantly.</p>
<p>
  <b>Drinks then.</b>
</p>
<p>He looks up at Birdie who’s currently grinning like a Cheshire cat. Jeff’s well aware that she knows something’s up. He’s definitely not getting out of explaining this one.</p>
<p><b>Can’t busy tonight</b>.</p>
<p>It’s not technically a lie- it’s just, well, it’s really exaggerating his current state. He sets his phone back down on the table before turning back to the current layout of cards. He can feel Birdie’s pointed curiosity emanating off of her. </p>
<p>He hears her stand up straight from where she’s been hunched over trying to figure out where a piece is meant to go. She’s staring intently at something stationed between her thumb and forefinger. When she looks up she asks with an air of barely contained glee, “Who was that?”</p>
<p>“Nobody,” Jeff replies with his own air of indifference. He knows she’s onto him. He also knows that she knows that he knows she’s onto him. It might be petty, but he has no qualms about drawing out their game a little longer. He flips the 9 of hearts over and places it on the ten of spades.</p>
<p>“Lucky draw,” she says slowly.</p>
<p>“You could say that,” he replies just as evenly, looking up at her.</p>
<p>“You know this almost feels like a metaphor.”</p>
<p>“What? Playing Solitaire?”</p>
<p>“You could say that,” she chirps back.</p>
<p>“Yeah, the metaphor is you suck at blackjack.”</p>
<p>“Well,” she starts, “I learned my lesson after having to pay your half of rent that month.”</p>
<p>Jeff just smiles at her. His phone vibrates again. His eyes widen.</p>
<p>
  <b>wshi ylou bwree herre</b>
</p>
<p>Birdie’s smile can only be described as shit eating, like a cat that caught the canary. “Looks like somebody to me.”</p>
<p>“Fine, you caught me. Somebody I knew recently rekindled-” he stops himself. Could it really be considered rekindling when their relationship had consisted of him trying to slam Kent into the boards and more often than not failing? He supposes he could technically include the parties in the Q as part of their relationship, but Kent had hardly ever left Jack’s side during those.</p>
<p>“Rekindled, hunh?”</p>
<p>Jeff feels himself pale. He’s well aware that he’s already come out to Birdie. It had been a nerve wracking endeavor, but when all was said and done, apparently she’d already known. She’d caught one of his one-night stands leaving in the morning when he’d been more adventurous and had just been waiting for him to tell her when he felt comfortable enough. They’d shared some expensive cognac which had led to a horrendous and quite memorable hangover the next morning. He does not, however, want to even accidentally imply Kent’s sexuality.</p>
<p>He stumbles over his words, “I, uh, I mean, if you count, I mean if you count spilling coffee on somebody and offering them a scone rekindling, then sure.” He tries to end stronger than he feels, but even he can recognize the shakiness in his tone.</p>
<p>Birdie’s face slides into concern. Jeff grimaces. He hasn’t been this flighty with his answers since he first moved in. He’s still not entirely open, but he also hasn’t been this opaque in forever.</p>
<p>Birdie takes pity on him. “Well, you’ve obviously made an impression on whoever it is. Apparently there’s someone for everyone,” she shakes her head at that.</p>
<p>“I mean we’re not-”</p>
<p>“I know, but you spilled coffee on them and they’re still, as the kids say, blowing up your phone.” She shuffles closer and pats his hand that’s been hovering over the phone without his volition. “It’s just- you’re playing solitaire next to me while I work on this God forsaken puzzle.”</p>
<p>“Lord’s name,” he quips before he can stop himself.</p>
<p>Her eyes go soft, “All I’m saying is- it’s Friday night and we live outside of Vegas. You should be doing something with kids your age.”</p>
<p>Jeff returns a wry smile choosing to ignore the comment about being a kid. “Yeah, maybe.”</p>
<p>He pockets the phone and flips the next card over in the pile. 8 of clubs. He places it on top of the 9 of hearts he’d already placed earlier. Maybe the night is looking up. </p><hr/>
<p>Kent wakes up with a groan. He rolls over into a blinding patch of light. He’s not entirely sure why in his drunken state last night he’d decided that the floor was the best spot to fall asleep. He maybe vaguely remembers a line of thinking about wanting his back straight like the floor? He stops following that train of thought, it hurts too much to think right now.</p>
<p>He falls back asleep and only wakes back up when he feels like he’s overheating. The desert sun is brutal. A pool of drool has formed under his chin and he’s pretty sure something’s died in his mouth. He squints out the window, judging by how high the sun is in the sky, he’s definitely missed the optional skate. He flops on his back, grateful he at least chose the carpet this time. Logically, he knows they’re optional, but as captain he feels like he shouldn’t miss them.</p>
<p>He pulls himself up using the coffee table and ruminates for a moment. He supposes it’s a good thing he hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch and then fallen off in the middle of the night onto the table. He starts to laugh, then stops because it hurts too much. The chirping alone wouldn’t be worth it, let alone the worried coaches and trainers. He grimaces, the PR people would probably go into overdrive worried that he had actually gotten into a fight and that any moment a viral clip would surface of said fight on twitter or some other form of social media.</p>
<p>His phone chimes from somewhere in the couch cushions, breaking him from his internal monologue. Right, he should probably check that. The team’s probably making sure he’s okay. He groans, he can only imagine what he messaged them last night.</p>
<p>He squints at the screen, realizes it’s too dark to read because it’s almost dead, and begins making his way to the kitchen. He’s pretty sure he didn’t remove the charger from there and try to plug it into the couch or something, but weirder things have happened so he doesn’t hold his breath. In the end it’s not plugged into the wall, but it is mangled in the bowl full of fake lemons his interior designer convinced him to buy to make the place more homey. It’s still in the kitchen however, so he counts it as a win.</p>
<p>He plugs his phone in to charge before he goes rummaging for what he considers food in this state. He snatches some protein bars from within one of the cabinets before turning his attention to the fridge for gatorade. He sighs when he realizes he’s out of the blue and settles for the red. He guzzles half of it before he remembers the protein bars half squished in his hand. He downs three of them in quick succession before remembering the rest of the gatorade again. It sloshes as it goes down and stains the white t-shirt he only kind of recalls slipping into last night. He spares the stain a passing glance before struggling out of the shirt and wiping his face with the offender. He has more where that came from.</p>
<p>His phone chimes again. He grimaces. He’s not looking forward to dealing with the aftermath of whatever the hell last night was.</p>
<p><i>A mistake</i>, his subconscious supplies. </p>
<p><i>More like a calculated effort to get rid of you</i>, he lashes back at the intruding thoughts.</p>
<p>He snatches his phone up. He absolutely does not want to deal with bullshit from his brain right now. His breathing is currently still normal but he’s roughly five minutes away from having a breakdown on the kitchen tile. </p>
<p>Scrolling through his notifications he’s surprised by the lack of them. There’s a message from the head coach reminding him there’s a required skate tomorrow before they head out on their next roadie. One from Scraps if he was okay since he hadn’t been at the rink earlier. Followed up by another letting him know that the optional skate had gone smoothly even without him there. Scraps is far too good an A for him, he thinks forlornly.</p>
<p>When he gets to the messages from Jeff however, he feels the blood rush from his face.</p>
<p>Instead of messaging random people from the team like Scraps or even Jack’s number (who he’s pretty sure has him blocked if the radio silence is anything to go by) he’d just sent every conscious thought to Jeff. He mostly hates how he’d started the texts with asking about scones though. And then suggesting drinks after Jeff had politely turned him down? He’d been halfway to definitely drunk when he’d sent that message and would not have been a good drinking buddy at that rate. </p>
<p>The messages don’t get better.</p>
<p>Kent drops his head into his arms when he reads the next one. Apparently drunk Kent is now thirsty for Jeff. Which, fair. He’d go so far as to say that sober Kent who’s currently nursing a hangover is also thirsty for Jeff. He’d have to be blind to not be able to acknowledge how attractive he is. Which if he’s deciphering the rest of the texts that follow the one suggesting that he wishes Jeff had been with him after he’d already been turned down twice, politely at that, Kent has said as much.</p>
<p>He groans, because he’s having a hard time trying to read his messages the further down he gets but also because everything about this scenario is embarrassing. The only light at the end of this metaphorical tunnel of shame is that everything in said texts apparently flew right over Jeff’s head. Which means he’s likely straight. Because honestly, only an oblivious straight male would miss the roughly 300 characters (albeit with typos) spent waxing on about his brown eyes. (They’re just really pretty, okay?). </p>
<p>There’s one message from Jeff waiting at the bottom of his word vomit.</p>
<p>
  <b>Scone?</b>
</p>
<p>Which, yeah he probably deserves that. The message had been sent a couple hours previously, sometime around noon. For all he knows, Jeff could be busy again, but it’d be rude to ignore it after what he must’ve put him through last night.</p>
<p>
  <b>You working then?</b>
</p>
<p><b>Nah</b>, is the only reply he gets.</p>
<p>He can’t help himself, <b>So I guess no scone then? :(</b></p>
<p>The bubbles to indicate Jeff typing come up, disappear, and then come up again. <b>Was gonna offer delivery</b>, is the response he gets for his efforts.</p>
<p><b>Oh, true service</b>, he chirps back while trying to ignore how giddy he feels.</p>
<p>
  <b>So, scone?</b>
</p>
<p><b>Yeah, sure man.</b> He types out adding his address on at the end. </p>
<p>It’s not until Jeff sends him back a thumbs up emoji that realizes what exactly he’s gotten himself into. He feels a panic attack looming at the edge of his peripheral but can’t risk Jeff having to deal with him in that state. He’s already bringing him scones.</p>
<p>So instead he throws himself into trying to make himself and the rest of his house at least semi presentable. He’s not entirely sure how healthy it is but as long as he has something to focus on, he can push through. He downs an ibuprofen in the bathroom and takes a shaky breath. He can do this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
  <li> Kent utilized alcohol to not think about things the night previous and ends up missing optional skate because of it. </li>
  <li>Kent doesn't have a panic attack, but does wonder if him throwing himself into purposely not thinking about things is just as bad.</li>
<li> Feelings of unworthiness from Kent. </li>
<li> Kent's worried he outed himself to Jeff but also thinks that maybe Jeff just did not figure it out. </li>
  <li>Jeff's like super sketch about details and purposely makes sure not to out Kent to Birdie.</li>
</ol>
<p>Fun fact: There is no metaphor for him playing Solitaire. It's called I tried to learn how to play Bridge and couldn't figure it out so made him play Solitaire instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff manages to make it to the front of Kent’s door before panic sets in. He’d been riding an adrenaline high that came from trying to make things right up until this point. Or as right as things could be. And now that he's here? Well, anxiety's kind of taking precedent. Somewhere logically recognizes that he hadn’t read through all the texts Kent had sent him the night previous until this morning and he definitely could be reading too far into things. But, even though about half of it was misspelled gibberish, he’s pretty sure Kent outed himself somewhere in the mess.</p><p>And Jeff? Well, Jeff’s been there. Stared at the chamber of the metaphorical gun, unsure if it was empty or not, but not necessarily willing to risk a round of Russian roulette for his career. Not that there’d been much of one left after the accident.</p><p>He lets out a shaky breath as he goes to knock with his right hand, the left clutching the bag of scones. The scones had been the only in to opening up a conversation again that he could think of. He’s mostly banking on the fact that the scones he brought, from the local bakery and not the coffee shop, will pad the rest of the way through the conversation as well. He hopes he doesn’t fuck it up, but really, he supposes, as long as he takes the direct opposite approach to the one Daniel had taken he should be fine.</p><p>Kent opens the door before his knuckles can connect with the door. He looks disheveled in an almost calculated manner. Cowlicks covered by a snapback, white t-shirt slightly rumpled, jeans that likely aren’t on their first wear of the week. </p><p>“Scones,” he says, shoving the bag into Kent’s chest before he can think. He doesn’t want to think, because thinking means that he’ll have to come to terms with admitting that he kind of likes how Kent looks right now. And Kent’s kind of off limits because of the texts he’d sent. They at the very least need to discuss the texts before they move forward.</p><p>That does not stop Jeff from having to shake the fantasy of closing the front door and backing Kent against it before knocking his stupid hat-</p><p>“Uh, thanks,” Kent says looking down at the crumpled bag, before carefully extracting it from Jeff’s hand.</p><p>Right, scones first. Texts second. People say a lot of dumb things when they’re drunk, he’s not going to hold Kent to anything. Even if said person is exactly his type. He's not like a creepy asshole or anything.</p><p>“You, uh, want to come in?” Kent asks, hedging on nervous. </p><p><i>So we’re getting right to it, hunh?</i> Jeff muses silently as he lets himself be led to the kitchen. But instead of delving directly into conversation, Kent just plates the scones equally between the two of them in silence. </p><p>“You want anything to drink?” he finally asks, breaking the silence as he fills a glass of water up at the sink.</p><p>“Water’s fine,” Jeff replies.</p><p>Kent downs his entire glass before setting it on the kitchen counter, “‘Kay.”</p><p>Jeff snorts. </p><p>Kent turns back to him from the cabinet he’d been rummaging in, now with a glass. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing, you just seemed thirsty,” Jeff chirps.</p><p>Kent flushes and Jeff immediately groans internally. Right, that’s about as open an innuendo that he could’ve made. And he should definitely not be making those innuendos right now when he's not even really sure where he stands currently with Kent.</p><p>Kent waits a beat before shrugging. “Hangover. I took something for the headache already but staying hydrated can’t hurt.”</p><p>Jeff nods, “Makes sense.”</p><p>Kent fills both glasses with water before turning back to Jeff and brandishing one to him with little fanfare. Both of them lean against the island, ignoring the available chairs. Jeff had taken one look at the shallow silver scoops pressed up against the counter masquerading themselves as chairs and had instantaneously envisioned himself falling out of one of them. That had made his decision to not sit in one relatively easy.</p><p>They finish their scones in silence.</p><p>“So, what brings you to vegas?” Kent starts after he’s cleared his plate.</p><p>“Well, obviously I wanted to clear out all the casinos,” he quips back automatically. It's not even true in any sense of the word. But he's not really in the mood to divulge his entire life story to someone who's essentially a stranger after all these years. And also it's one of the first you think of when you think of Vegas so he figures it's a safe comment to reply with, in that it won't be examined too closely.</p><p>It’s Kent’s turn to snort. “I’ve been to those casinos and I can confidently say that I’ve never seen you in any of them.”</p><p>Jeff half shrugs. “There’s a lot of casinos,” he points out before continuing, “Maybe you were just too drunk to notice me.”</p><p>Kent half-heartedly shoves his shoulder. “Ass. I normally don’t get that drunk. And, uh,” he trails off, “sorry for all the texts.”</p><p>Jeff reaches out a hand to place it on Kent’s arm. “Don’t worry about it. Your secret’s safe with me.”</p><p>Kent grins.</p><p>“Thanks man, glad to know that you’re not going to spill to everyone that I’m a notorious drunk texter.”</p><p>Jeff squints, because that’s not quite what he was talking about. But Kent just keeps forging ahead.</p><p>“Half the team knows about it anyway, so it’s not like it’d be that big of a deal.”</p><p>Jeff pulls back slightly. He’s really not sure him and Kent are on the same page. “I’m-” he starts.</p><p>“Really, dude, it’s no problem. Although I’m sure the team’s glad that you literally took one for the team and so that they didn’t have to field my texts all night.”</p><p>Jeff draws his mouth into a thin line. </p><p>“Anyway, let’s see if you can put your money where your mouth is. See what kind of moves you have that makes you think that you can take on Vegas.”</p><p>Jeff provides him with a lopsided smile. They’ll talk later. Right now he has a challenge to win.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent can’t stop babbling as he moves about to find his cards. Jeff’s being too nice about the texting thing and his heart rate has to be through the roof. The easy smile that’s currently resting on his features is definitely doing nothing to help his current internal debate. Yeah he has Jack to think about but Jeff’s eyes crinkle at the corner and light up whenever he catches Kent glancing at him. </p><p>God, if only he wasn’t straight. What a great distraction that’d be. He shakes his head before leading Jeff towards the dining room that he only really uses for card tournaments.</p><p>“Blackjack?” Jeff asks as he casually slips into one of the chairs.</p><p>“Sure,” Kent responds. He’s better at poker, likes reading his opponents and trying to figure out their plays. But blackjack’s probably easier to play with just the two of them. “I’m dealer, though.”</p><p>Jeff’s smirk is downright dangerous. “Works for me.”</p><p>They’re halfway through the third time using the deck when Kent figures out why.</p><p>“Hold,” Jeff replies when Kent goes to give him another card. </p><p>Kent raises an eyebrow. “You’re at 14.”</p><p>“I know,” Jeff responds calmly.</p><p>Kent shrugs. He places down a jack of spades and a slow realization washes over him. “Fucker- you count cards.”</p><p>Jeff leans back easy in the chair, bringing his hands up to rest behind his head. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. </p><p>He can’t stop himself. The dam’s been broken and now all he can do is call it out. “No, I’m Vegas’ golden boy and I still would’ve told the dealer to hit me.”</p><p>“Vegas’ golden boy, eh?”</p><p>“Oh, that’s rich coming from you Mr. Canada,” Kent snarks back. He pauses, “Wait- is this why you came to Vegas?” He’s going to have to rethink his Jeff’s morally superior to me line of thought if that’s the case.</p><p>“Is what why I came to Vegas?”</p><p>“Card counting!”</p><p>Jeff huffs out a sigh, before leaning forward against the table. “No, it’s a longer story than that.” He doesn’t offer anymore on that subject but he does begin again after quirking his head to the side. </p><p><i>God his jaw</i>, Kent thinks before he can stop himself.</p><p>“I actually don’t think I’ve ever stepped foot in a casino here.”</p><p>Kent sucks in a breath before half launching himself across the table. “Wait, what? How?!”</p><p>Jeff leans back in a knee-jerk reaction. “Uh, not really my speed. Kind of afraid I’ll be kicked out of the country or something. Like I have dual citizenship and everything but I just don’t want to risk it.” Their eyes meet and Jeff at least has the decency to appear sheepish. </p><p>“Didn’t they rule that you couldn’t be kicked out of the casino for that?”</p><p>“I’m going to be honest. I have no idea. It was just something I picked up when I played against Beatrice and the rest of our neighbors.”</p><p>“Beatrice?”</p><p>“My condomate. It’s the only way I’d ever be able to afford being even semi close to the strip. It’s also not that far from the bus routes.”</p><p>Kent pauses at that before pushing off of the table. “How’d you get here then?” He’s pretty sure there’s no bus route near his house.</p><p>Jeff shoots him an incredulous look, “Uber and Lyft exist.”</p><p>“Right, right,” Kent waves him off as he starts walking towards the kitchen. “Want anything to drink?”</p><p>“Water again if you don’t mind,” Jeff calls after him.</p><p>Kent shoots back a “‘Kay,” as he continues towards the kitchen shooting off multiple texts in a row to Scraps. No he doesn’t want to go out, yes he knows that that’s lame, but this time he actually has a reason, his reason is that he’s being destroyed in cards.</p><p>Kent ignores the question marks he gets in return in favor of retrieving water for both him and Jeff again.</p><p>When he returns he snaps a pic of Jeff leaning over the table from behind to appease Scraps. <b>See I have friends</b>, he plasters in white text against the dark outline of Jeff. He turns his phone on silent so he can enjoy the rest of the night with Jeff. He knows nothing’s going to happen but it’s fun to feel giddy and just nice to be near someone who also avoids talk of hockey. God the reprieve of it all.</p><p>He’s half leaning into Jeff’s side, water being ignored by the both of them, trying to figure out how to get good enough at card counting to impress him when he hears a loud crash from a room upstairs. Following that is a string of curses.</p><p>“Uh,” Jeff starts.</p><p>Kent narrows his eyes and hisses out, “Scraps.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
  <li>There's an allegory(?), metaphor(?) idk what the word is, using a gun to reference something that's happened in Jeff's past.</li>
  <li>Jeff feels slight panic at the beginning of the chapter- but it doesn't devolve into a panic attack.</li>
 <li> References to being potentially outed </li>
<li> Gambling- but not really, no money is exchanged, but playing blackjack is mentioned </li>
</ol><p>Things to know about this chapter:</p><ul>
<li> I googled card counting for all of five minutes because it was late at night when I wrote this and then just went with like the first example that came up. </li>
<li> Jeff thinks of Birdie as Birdie but calls her Beatrice to fuck with her, and also introduces her as Beatrice to other people for the same reason. That's just the vibe they have with each other </li>
</ul><p>Also- Scraps has finally shown up!!! Sorry for the lowkey cliffhanger but the next chapter'll be up either Sunday or Monday depending on how much hw I get done before then.</p><p>Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me? Avoiding writing an article for one of my clubs by uploading this? Yeah, pretty par for the course actually.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scraps has a scar below his right eye. But that’s not what’s concerning to Jeff. Jeff’s more concerned about the fact that Scraps’ gaze is heavy as a stone and currently pinned on him. That and the fact that he didn’t even bother knocking on the front door, instead just climbing up the lattice in the backyard to Kent’s bedroom. Yeah, okay, maybe he is a little concerned about the scar under his right eye. He’s not entirely sure it came from a scrum on ice at this rate.</p>
<p>“Uh, hi?” Jeff offers. </p>
<p>Kent stands awkwardly between the two of them obviously perplexed and not sure how to move forward.</p>
<p>“Who this is?”</p>
<p>So Scraps is a man of few words and also decidedly, very Russian. </p>
<p><i>Well, that’s fair</i>, Jeff thinks to himself. He’d been more of the silent type when he’d been playing too. Let his defense do the talking. And he hadn’t even had the distinct issue of not having English as his first language. But even besides all of that he couldn’t in good conscience join in most of the joky prodding that his teammates had deployed in spades. He winces at the memory, it’d been a little hard to joke about others being gay when he was well aware where he stood.</p>
<p>Kent snaps at Scraps, “You’re scaring him man.”</p>
<p>Jeff’s confused until he realizes he must’ve visibly winced. He goes to grab Kent’s arm, sliding his hand down to Kent’s elbow trying to appear less threatening. He’s entirely too aware of Scraps tensing and clenching a fist at his side. He’d be the type to know how to swing and leaving Jeff’s lack of recent fighting out of the equation, he has too many weak points left over from the accident as it is. And if the look Scraps is giving him is anything to go off of, he wouldn’t be above utilizing them to his advantage.</p>
<p>“Kent it’s fine,” he says. He tries to ignore how Kent’s biting his lip and how nice it’d been moments ago with just the two of them.</p>
<p>He extracts his hand from Kent’s arm and continues past him to greet Scraps fully. “Jeff,” he greets hand out, as much of an olive branch that he can possibly provide.</p>
<p>Scraps shoots a glance towards Kent, something that Jeff definitely doesn’t miss. In the limited time that he’s been privy to knowing Scraps more intimately than a jersey on a screen, he’s realized pretty quickly that subtlety isn’t exactly his specialty. Whatever transpires between him and Kent ends relatively quickly and Scraps proceeds to turn his full attention to Jeff.</p>
<p>“Sacha,” he says as he goes to accept Jeff’s offered hand. If his grip is a little tighter than necessary, well, Jeff definitely doesn’t mention it.</p>
<p>“Well Sacha,” Jeff pauses, “Or do you prefer Scraps?”</p>
<p>Sacha-Scraps furrows his thick brows together at that. A moment passes and a thicker accent falls from his lips as he responds. “You play hockey?”</p>
<p>Jeff can feel the rueful smile twist at the corner of his mouth. “Did.”</p>
<p>“That’s actually how we know each other,” Kent pipes up from behind him.</p>
<p>Which, that’s pushing it really. But he’s willing to follow Kent’s lead if it means that he’s not going to have to end this night in an ER. If he never sees a hospital again, it’ll be too soon.</p>
<p>Sacha-Scraps perks up at that. “Call me Scraps. What’s yours?”</p>
<p>And Jeff’s able to piece together that he probably wants his nickname from hockey. “Uh, Swoops,” he just barely coherently mumbles.</p>
<p>Kent coughs and Jeff tries to keep his face impassive. Right, that’d been the whole reason why this mess had started. And he’d been doing so well at keeping hockey out of his life.</p>
<p>Scraps leans forward to whack him on the back shoulder. It’s probably supposed to be a comforting show of friendship but he hasn’t been near this level of rough friendship in a while. Jeff all but falls forward before catching himself on one of the chairs currently pushed into the dining table. Kent snorts.</p>
<p>Which is why when Scraps asks him how he’d been able to supposedly clear Kent out in cards he’s all too willing to offer up a demonstration. The squawks of protest from Kent and the following disgruntled grumbling only cause work to motivate Jeff more.</p>
<p>“Sure, man, hope you’re good at math.”</p><hr/>
<p>Kent’s warily content. Trash takeout containers litter the various open spaces on the table not otherwise occupied by cards. He’s also glad they’re not playing for actual money currently because if he’s even vaguely correct he’d be well on his way to blowing through his bank account solely due to Jeff. He’s not entirely sure if it’s the card counting, Jeff’s instincts or just the fact that he keeps getting distracted by Jeff in his peripheral. Regardless, he’s pretty sure that he’s still beating Scraps, so he’ll count that as a win in his book.</p>
<p>It’s not long after eight when the three of them are wrapping up. Kent’s carefully collecting the trash they’ve accumulated, basking in the glow that is fragile friendship. Jeff’s smiling and nodding along as Scraps gets into an animated story that Kent’s half-tuned out. He’s probably heard it before. </p>
<p>He looks up at the two of them through his eyelashes, trying to conceal his intentions. Both are slightly stiff but at least aren’t acting cold to one another. It’s the best he can hope for in terms of Scraps being overprotective. He wraps his arms around the pile of trash and goes to deposit it in the trash somewhere before coming back.</p>
<p>“So it’s been fun-” he starts.</p>
<p>“Yeah! Shame night end now,” Scraps hedges, sticking his bottom lip out in an attempt at a pout. </p>
<p>Kent curses internally, it’s the eyes that always do it. Not that he’d ever let Scraps know that but it's not like he can look away right now. His options are: ignore Scraps in favor of the ceiling (maybe it’ll look like he’s praying), the ground (his socked feet are not that interesting), the table (his hands splayed out on the edge are probably splotchy right now) or Jeff (HAHAHA). </p>
<p>“We have skate tomorrow,” he points out instead.</p>
<p>“Night young! We leave now, we get back early, we not tired for skate.”</p>
<p>“We also leave for a roadie tomorrow,” he tries to reason.</p>
<p>Scraps shrugs. “Team misses Cap.”</p>
<p>And really, what can he say to that? He already feels shit enough about that. He’d probably call it a low blow if it wasn’t for the fact that Scraps is right and he has been avoiding the team. He’s the captain. He should be better.</p>
<p>Jeff cuts into his thoughts. “I’ve seen how you party. You saying the captain of the Las Vegas Aces lost his rep when he went pro?”</p>
<p>Jeff has a shit-eating grin that wouldn’t be nearly as endearing if his eyes hid the truth. It’s a chirp, a challenge even, but not necessarily one that has to be taken seriously. But because it’s a challenge he can’t back down. He can’t even admit to the truth to try and get out of it. Which is that more often than not he’d been leaving parties early to either help Jack with his anxiety, fuck him or both. He also can’t admit to Scraps that he’d had a party of one last night otherwise he’d just worry.</p>
<p>He feels himself slip into the persona that he’d created to hide behind when he’d first been drafted. “Well, if that’s the way it’s going to be- round up the boys. And you, you’d better come too Swoops.” It slips out before he can stop himself.</p>
<p>Jeff squints at him for a split second before tilting his head to the side to smile. “Sure thing Parsley.”</p>
<p>Kent just barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out in retaliation. That hadn’t been his nickname back in the Q, but he’d heard it in the trash talk every now and then so it might as well have been up there. He shrugs instead, still better than fag or fairy.</p><hr/>
<p>The team’s on their third club of the night and it has to be past midnight by now when he starts thinking about fairies again. A girl covered in glitter pushes past him on the dance floor and he can’t even find it in him to be mad. The team’s been pushing his favorite fruity drinks on him the entire time so he’s slightly blitzed and mostly just impressed with her makeup. </p>
<p><i>She could be a fairy</i>, he thinks to himself slightly in awe. Quickly followed by, <i>I wish I was a fairy</i>, because it just sounds like it’d be nice. And then the realization that he technically is one. He snorts. </p>
<p>The recognition of what that means hits shortly thereafter.</p>
<p>He feels himself visibly deflate and lets the pulse of the crowd push him to the edge. Jack hadn’t liked it when he’d worn makeup but Jack had liked it when he’d done that thing with his tongue so it evened out. Or at least he thought it had. Regardless, the trash talk always hurt worse when it held truth the morning after. He has a thick-skinned persona for a reason.</p>
<p>He debates going for another drink, decides against it, already imagining the hangover he’s going to have tomorrow with what he’s downed tonight. He hates himself already, but what else is new? He should just go and get an uber out of here, text Scraps when he’s already halfway home so he can’t be persuaded to stay. Maybe text Jeff too. He might be a straight dude but at least he’s a straight dude who cares.</p>
<p>He accidentally gets lost in the maze that is the layout of this club. Heading towards the precipice of drunk likely isn’t helping anything. The blinding lights that could probably cause a seizure definitely aren’t doing him any favors either. He’s all too happy to find a dark semi-hidden hallway to rest for a moment. He has some vague notion that it’s probably meant to be a semi-private makeout spot but he can’t really be bothered to care. Right now sitting sounds like a fantastic idea, so that’s what he does.</p>
<p>“Kent,” a voice from above interrupts his solitude.</p>
<p>He blinks blearily. He must’ve dozed off to the bass thumping distantly through the walls. Jeff’s leaning over him, hand reaching out to help lift him off the ground. Kent takes it.</p>
<p>“Thanks for finding me,” Kent starts.</p>
<p>“It was nothing really. I actually wanted to apologize,” Jeff begins.</p>
<p>Kent peers at him through the darkness, staring at his half illuminated face trying to figure out where this conversation is going.</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t have forced you to hang out with your team. Like I get it. Not really my place to begin with, hockey’s not super welcoming and you were probably still recovering from last night.”</p>
<p>Kent bites his lip. He vaguely registers that Jeff’s still rambling on, fidgeting with his hands. He just can’t currently get past the first part of his apology. Obviously hockey’s not super welcoming. But that normally only applies if you don’t fit the mold of a straight, white guy. And Jeff’s a white guy as far as Kent can tell. Which leaves, well shit, that would explain the weird ass conversation that the two of them had held earlier about the texts he’d sent. He just hadn’t wanted to tiptoe around the subject with a straight guy, figuring that once he’d let Jeff off the hook that’d be the end of it. </p>
<p>A straight guy who’s looking less and less like one the longer time goes by.</p>
<p>He glances up at Jeff and realizes that he’s since finished. Emboldened by the alcohol and shadows he takes a step forward, “Hey Jeff?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>He takes another step forward. Licks his lips. Watches as Jeff’s eyes spend a moment too long lingering over them as he does. Hopes he’s not reading this wrong and angles upwards. He waits until Jeff leans down towards him, “I forgive you.” </p>
<p>It’s a ghost of a touch between the two of them.</p>
<p>Jeff closes the rest of the distance. Kent lets out a low moan as Jeff bites at his bottom lip. A request to take the kiss further that Kent gladly accepts. He brings his hands up behind Jeff’s head and Jeff lowers himself further in response.</p>
<p><i>Broad</i>, his mind supplies all too helpfully.</p>
<p>He threads his fingers through Jeff’s hair as Jeff’s hands settle against his hips to bring them flush against each other. Kent tugs sharply in warning but that only causes Jeff to groan and open up more between the two of them. </p>
<p>After a moment they pull away. “Kent,” Jeff whispers softly, his eyes soft even in the dynamic lighting.</p>
<p>His heart jackrabbits in his chest as he realizes where they are. Anyone could stumble upon the two of them. And then what? </p>
<p>“Uh, I’ll text you?” he offers lamely before darting off into the convoluted maze. His only saving grace being that Jeff doesn’t call after him like a bad rom-com plot point. </p>
<p>Scraps, Scraps, he needs Scraps. Scraps’ll help get him out of here. Scraps won’t ask after Jeff since they just met and he really needs that uber right about now. He half-heartedly dances at the edge of the crowd as he plays lookout for both Jeff and Scraps.</p>
<p>Luckily Scraps notices him even in a semi-inebriated state and waves him over. The team’s currently on the way out and the ubers are almost here. Nobody asks him about Jeff or rather, Swoops, as he’d been introduced by Scraps at the first club. He’s not part of the team.</p>
<p>He manages not to think about Jeff until he’s stuffed between Scraps and a sophomore player whose name he should remember but currently doesn’t in the backseat of a slightly too small SUV. He wonders what would’ve happened had they included him in their uber procession. He stops when he can’t get beyond remembering the feeling of denim rubbing against denim and the hot press of his mouth. </p>
<p>Skate’s going to be hell tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
  <li>Derogatory language toward the LGBTQ+ community mentioned</li>
<li>Gambling, but without money</li>
</ol>
<p>Well, Kent knows now at least.</p>
<p>Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good news- the fic finally earns it's rating this chapter. Bad news- it's not until the end of the chapter.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff’s not moping. Birdie says he is, but he isn’t. He’d have to actually have to care to consider it true moping. Maybe he’s a little disappointed- sure, but moping? Nope. Not him. He’s half paying attention to the book in front of him, stirring his mostly cold coffee when she finally pounces.</p>
<p>“So,” she starts.</p>
<p>“Yes?” he asks, glancing up from the paperback that he’s not really following.</p>
<p>“You’re moping,” she states simply.</p>
<p>He lets out a long sigh that sounds more like an engine exhaling than a human. They’ve had this mini come to Jesus moment multiple times over the past couple days. He’s still holding out that he’s not moping.</p>
<p>He dogears the page he’s on, not sure that it really matters but does so out of habit regardless, and sets it down on the table that lies between them. “Birdie, I’m not moping. I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to say this-”</p>
<p>She cuts him off, “You just called me Birdie- bullshit you’re not moping.”</p>
<p>“Not really sure how that correlates but whatever. Maybe I just wanted you to get off my back and I figured I’d appease you.”</p>
<p>“You never want to appease me, except maybe when you do the dishes, mister using me for card counting practice.”</p>
<p>A smirk breaks through his otherwise frozen exterior. “That was a nice savings buffer,” he admits.</p>
<p>She huffs. “Point still stands. You’re moping.”</p>
<p>“I’m-”</p>
<p>“You’re reading-”</p>
<p>“Is it a crime to read?”</p>
<p>“It’s a historical romance-”</p>
<p>“It’s titillating.”</p>
<p>“It’s tit something alright. But you and I both know that you’re gay.”</p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p>“Jeff,” she starts quieter and he knows he’s fucked, “You haven’t been the same since last Saturday.”</p>
<p>Which yes, but he’s really not in the mood to be called out. He’s already had enough of a whiplash in regard to reconnecting with Kent, meeting Scraps (who’s quiet until he starts a steamroll of a story) and subsequently half the team. A team who Kent obviously isn’t super comfortable with and when he went to apologize after finally getting him alone for being a contributing factor in going out-</p>
<p>Well, he certainly hadn’t been expecting that response. </p>
<p>And he knows how shitty that world can be. He even has firsthand experience with just how shitty it can actually get. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt that he never got the text Kent promised him. He’s allowed to have feelings, even if they’re slightly irrational. So maybe he has been moping. But just a little, and honestly it’s not really his condomate’s place to worry about him.</p>
<p>“I know you think it’s not my place to worry about you-”</p>
<p><i>Fuck, she’s good</i>, he thinks.</p>
<p>“And normally I stay out of your business-”</p>
<p><i>True</i>, he thinks bitterly.</p>
<p>“But you can’t live your life bottling things up-”</p>
<p>“And you know this how?” he asks, acid seeping into his words.</p>
<p>“Because I’ve been alive longer than you dipshit,” she bites back, punctuating her words by leaning across the table and slapping him upside the head.</p>
<p><i>Also true</i>, he thinks with a hint of melancholy. There’s no way he’s going to win this argument. Might as well bow out now with the limited grace he has left. He places his head on the paperback that’s currently laying on the table in front of him. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it kind of makes a better pillow than reading material. How do people read this shit for fun?</p>
<p>“Oh sweetheart,” she says getting up from her chair to come around behind him and placing her hand against his back. “What’s the matter?” she asks, punctuating her words with the soothing motion of rubbing his back.</p>
<p>“It’s embarrassing,” he mumbles against the cool cover. It sticks to his lips and muffles his words more than normal.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>He lifts his head and looks at her forlornly. “It’s embarrassing.”</p>
<p>“Oh honey, I’ve done embarrassing plenty. I promise I won’t make fun of you.”</p>
<p>The idea of at least spilling part of his worries so he doesn’t have to shoulder quite as many burdens is at minimum partially appealing. He lets out an exhale. “I think I scared this guy away?” he finishes on a question. He’s still not entirely sure what happened, how scones had turned into vodka tonics and a makeout in a dim lit area.</p>
<p>“Oh sweetheart,” is all she says as she pulls up a chair close to him.</p>
<p>He lets out another shaky breath. Looks like they’re both in it for the long haul.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent is well aware that he’s in the midst of a panic attack. He’s working through breathing exercises that he googled recently in an attempt to quell it, but it’s not really fixing the issue. The issue is probably too deep rooted at this rate but that feels like another issue on top of the foremost issue he’s handling currently. The introspective monologuing will just have to wait.</p>
<p>There’s a soft glow from the lamp next to Scraps’ bed that he’s mostly ignoring. Scraps is currently in the shower and he really needs to get this over with so that he doesn’t freak Scraps out. They’re only half way through their current roadie and he definitely doesn’t want to mess with the team’s dynamics if he can help it.</p>
<p>But fuck if he isn’t a little freaked out right about now.</p>
<p>He is such a shitty person. He’s well aware of that. But now he just feels even shittier. God what’s Jeff feeling like right now? He’s the one who got left at a club he’d likely never been to before after Kent had his freak out. After he’d tried to apologize to Kent and Kent had fucking kissed him.</p>
<p>He turns over on his side, trying to curl into a smaller ball. He hadn’t even texted him like he’d promised to in a rush. Granted Jeff hadn’t texted either, but Jeff also hadn’t exactly promised to. So, Kent was still the royal fuck up that he knew himself to be and Jeff was still leagues above him. What else was new?</p>
<p>And God- what if Jeff outed him? The texts might be mostly gibberish but it could very well be enough for a deadspin article. And then what? He lets out a choked off sob, gasping for air he hadn’t realized he’d been desperate for. This is why he doesn’t come out to anyone. The less people that know the easier it is to keep the mess contained.</p>
<p>He brings his knees up to his chest, tightening his arms around them. When was the last time he’d come out to someone? Jack obviously knew but that was mutually assured destruction so it hardly counted. It hits him suddenly. </p>
<p>The guy from Jack’s college.</p>
<p>He’d said something about being shitty but let Kent wallow in his own shit so he’s not entirely convinced that that’s true. He vaguely remembers mentioning something about being gay and his response being something along the lines of “Thanks for trusting me” and “Your secret’s safe with me bro”. He also remembers a cup of something alcoholic being shoved into his hand and the guy walking off muttering something about a fifth. Which, a fifth of something fancy had sounded good at the time, but the decidedly cheap combination in his cup had definitely done the trick in regard to being lethal.</p>
<p>He’s only half glad that he woke up the following morning. </p>
<p>The water in the shower shuts off. He straightens out and manages to even his breathing enough to appear convincingly asleep. Or at least convincingly enough that Scraps doesn’t bother asking him if he wants to go out tonight. It had been a hard fought win that had required them to go into overtime. And they were only halfway through their current roadie so he was entitled to his sleep. Not that he was likely to get any anytime soon, but still, the thought was nice.</p>
<p>He hears Scraps rummage through his bag and get dressed before shutting off the light and heading out. He only lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he'd been holding when he hears the door click shut.</p>
<p>The heater kicks on. That’s the problem with these east coast roadies in the early spring. Too cold. He buries deeper into the thin comforter and tries to allow himself to be lulled asleep by the humming of the heater.</p>
<p>He’s drifted halfway there when he hears his phone buzz against the bedside table. He frowns, reaching for where it’s plugged in. He rips the cord out when he goes to open the screen and it blinds him. The battery saving process kicks in and it softens to a manageable glow. </p>
<p>There’s a single text from Jeff that just says: <b> good game</b>. Something low in his stomach swoops. It’s an in if he’s ever seen one and he’s sure as hell going to take it.</p><hr/>
<p>He has a lot of pent up energy that he’s currently trying to expel by shaking his leg underneath the table. There’s a single customer on her way out and he really does not want to be recognized right now. He pulls his baseball cap lower over his face. It’s not exactly the most inconspicuous move he’s ever pulled but he really doesn’t want to be noticed, so it is what it is.</p>
<p>The chair across from him at the table scrapes across linoleum. </p>
<p>“You came,” a familiar voice rumbles.</p>
<p>Kent looks up, willing himself to breathe normally. The flush is already a lost cause, but there’s no need for pretense here.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he begins cautiously. He reaches into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, fumbling with the reserves of energy permeating through him. He finds what he’s looking for, gripping the paper a little too tightly before he brandishes it on the sticky surface between them.</p>
<p>“Pen?” Jeff asks.</p>
<p>Kent nods in a jerk-like motion before reaching back into the swathes of fabric to find that next. This is why they’re here. The NDA that Jeff had brought up first between the two of them. </p>
<p>“Uh, here,” he announces, startling the both of them when he slams it down on the table with more force than necessary.</p>
<p>He glances up when he notices that Jeff takes the pen. He places the end in his mouth, twisting it in contemplation as he reads through the NDA. He signs it without complaint before sliding it back across the table. It only sticks twice.</p>
<p>“Spill more coffee today?” Kent asks, trying to distill the awkward tension between them.</p>
<p>“What you did hurt me,” Jeff cuts him off, stilted in a way that makes it appear as though he’s too practiced in repeating the message.</p>
<p>Kent sucks in a breath. It’s definitely a more than fair response, doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt because apparently he’s just destined to hurt everyone he meets, including himself. Their texts had been barebones and all Jeff had asked of him was to meet with the NDA. His anxiety had equated that to Jeff wanting to yell at him, but honestly this quiet disappointment is almost worse.</p>
<p>“I apologize,” he starts slowly in an attempt to not stumble over his own words, “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation. It’s just-”</p>
<p>Jeff snorts. Kent stares at him derisively. </p>
<p>“If anything I should be apologizing for taking advantage of the situation.”</p>
<p>“I’m the one that kissed you,” Kent hisses.</p>
<p>“And you’re the one who left,” Jeff points out easily, lauding the pen at him in a slow easy manner.</p>
<p>“Only because my team was still there.” </p>
<p>Kent jerks his head up to make sure the place is still empty. Being in a public place had gotten them into this mess in the first place after all.</p>
<p>Jeff’s quieter the next time he speaks, “You never texted.” It sounds almost broken and Kent can feel his chest clench at that.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know what to say,” Kent answers as honestly as he can, his voice barely a whisper between the two of them.</p>
<p>He’s not entirely sure when it happened, but they’re both leaning halfway across the table between them and Jeff’s cupping his face. Kent distantly worries about his future laundry situation as he pushes his weight onto his elbows. Jeff’s thumb rubs against his cheek in an almost soothing motion. Kent melts into it, nodding nearly imperceptibly when Jeff asks permission to close the rest of the distance.</p>
<p>Jeff licks into his mouth with broad strokes, like he’s got something to prove. Kent’s not entirely sure why, since he seems to have this part down pat, but he’s not planning on letting this go to waste. He goes to return the favor only to find Jeff pulling away.</p>
<p>Kent feels his eyelashes flutter against his skin as he opens his eyes in confusion. He huffs and juts his bottom lip out in an unabashed pout. Jeff laughs and Kent allows himself to soak up the warmth that emanates from it.</p>
<p>“Windows,” Jeff says, pointing them out.</p>
<p>Kent can feel his face burn bright at that. Right, he’s not supposed to be found out because that’d be a mess in it’s own right. Apparently he can’t help himself around Jeff. He’s not entirely sure what to make of that but it’s been awhile since he’s made a connection like this and he has a signed NDA, so.</p>
<p>“There is however an office in the back that doesn’t have windows,” Jeff continues, he pauses again appearing not entirely sure of himself. “Unless I’m reading this wrong, in which case-”</p>
<p>Kent stands up abruptly, pushing his chair away from the table, grabbing the NDA as he goes. “A+ in reading comprehension,” is all he says, trying to keep his tone light. Jeff does not need to know exactly how coated in lust his thoughts are.</p><hr/>
<p>The office is entirely uninteresting, but the company definitely makes up for it. Jeff had pushed him up against the closed door as soon as they’d both entered. Kent’s still not entirely sure where his hat’s currently located. He tries to make a mental note to look for it after but it’s a little hard to do with the present preoccupation. For example, he’s pretty sure he’s knocked some probably important papers off the desk he’s currently sitting on and he can’t find it in him to care.</p>
<p>Kent has both hands looped around the back of Jeff’s head while Jeff is currently thumbing the skin just above his jeans and below his sweatshirt. He makes a strangled noise as Jeff bites at his lower lip. He hooks him closer with his legs and gets the satisfaction of hearing Jeff groan in response.</p>
<p>He pulls away. “Fuck Jeff,” he breathes out, “What are we doing?”</p>
<p>Jeff raises an eyebrow, “Hooking up?”</p>
<p>Which okay, Kent had been hoping, but it hadn’t been explicitly stated. It’s also been awhile and he’s nowhere near prepped for anything too strenuous. Although if the kissing’s anything to go off of, Jeff will be just as thorough with that.</p>
<p>“‘T’s been a while,” he slurs, trying to lean back into Jeff’s embrace. </p>
<p>The slow, easy smile Jeff returns only causes heat to pool low in his stomach. It also goes straight to his dick which is currently straining against his jeans. He huffs a moan when Jeff leans in closer. Jeff nips along his jaw until he reaches the juncture just below his ear. He tugs at the ear lobe. </p>
<p>“Guess I’ll have to ease you into it then, hunh?” he whispers into Kent’s ear, all hot breath and promises.</p>
<p>“Fuck, Jeff- you can’t just say shit like that.”</p>
<p>“Oh I can’t?” he asks as he pulls away.</p>
<p>Kent mumbles something non-committal and tries to drag him in closer again with his legs.</p>
<p>If the shit-eating grin is anything to go off of, Jeff is far too pleased with that reaction. Kent’s not entirely sure he cares though, as his reward is Jeff leaning in to kiss him again. One of his hands follows in making quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans while the other keeps rubbing just above his hip bone. </p>
<p>He hisses something intelligible when Jeff palms him through his briefs. Involuntarily he arches back and pushes one of his hands through Jeff’s hair. The other hand is currently grasping at Jeff’s unfairly broad shoulders for leverage. In response Jeff leans down to suck at the point where his neck and shoulder meets. Which is also not fair since he’s sensitive in that exact location, the high-pitched keening noise he makes giving him away. </p>
<p>He can feel Jeff smile against his skin after that. He huffs in annoyance trying to regain his composure, but quickly loses it again when Jeff laves his tongue over what is likely a hickey at this rate. He only has half a second of conscious thought where he’s grateful that he’s not going to be subjected to beard burn before Jeff’s gripping the tip of his dick and rubbing his thumb over the slit.</p>
<p>“That’s...not...fair,” he manages to grit out, taking in deep breaths as he goes.</p>
<p>“Is it not?” Jeff asks, removing his hand from there and bringing his head up to look him in the eye.</p>
<p>He goes to place Kent’s jaw in his palm and brings him in for another deep kiss. Kent can feel the groan reverberate through Jeff’s chest when he tugs at his hair in retaliation. </p>
<p>“Now that’s not fair,” Jeff announces when he pulls away again. Kent snorts but it’s short-lived when he realizes that Jeff’s now using his other hand to begin peeling his boxers down. Kent’s breath catches in his throat.</p>
<p>“I, uh-” he’s not entirely sure where this is going or what he’s even trying to say but he feels like he needs to say something.</p>
<p>“You clean?” Jeff asks, punctuating his question with a devastating lick of his lips. </p>
<p>Kent can feel his brow furrow, because, yeah he took a shower before coming here. Mostly because he’d had a skate earlier in the day and that requires a shower regardless, but he’s still not entirely sure what that has to do with what they’re doing right now. Which he’d very much like to continue if Jeff’s still up for it.</p>
<p>He must take too long to answer because Jeff lets out a low laugh that does dangerous things to his libido. He leans forward and bumps his nose against Kent’s before leaving him with a chaste kiss.</p>
<p>“STDs, clean of STDs,” he clarifies. “Don’t think too hard, Parsley.”</p>
<p>Kent shoots him a glare that he knows can’t hold too much weight, especially since he can imagine he’s probably half-way to fucked out right now. Jeff just raises an eyebrow in response.</p>
<p>“Yeah I’m clean- they test us often enough. You?”</p>
<p>“Same, although if you want proof-”</p>
<p>Kent cuts him off with a kiss of his own, “I trust you.” </p>
<p>He surprises himself realizing he actually does. Not that he has long to come to terms with that because before he knows it he finds Jeff kneeling between his legs with both his jeans and briefs bunched around his ankles.</p>
<p>Jeff glances up at him through his hefty mop of hair. “Good,” is all he says before swallowing his entire length down.</p>
<p>“Jesus,” he exclaims, leaning against the desk for support. He reaches one hand back and grabs what he thinks is the other edge and hopes he isn’t crushing any papers that are particularly important. The other he keeps pressed against Jeff’s head, twisting in his hair absent-mindedly.</p>
<p>Jeff just hums around his dick, which only expedites the process that’s already barreling towards an early finish. He brings one hand up to grip the base of it and the other encompasses one half of his ass. The callouses on both cause a sense of friction that only heightens the wet slick of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Close,” he manages to grit out as he tugs Jeff’s hair in a warning.</p>
<p>Jeff just moans in response and that’s what does him in.</p>
<p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunts out, scrambling for purchase only to accidentally knock off more papers from the desk. Jeff sucks him through the aftershocks until Kent manages to get out a weak, “You can stop.”</p>
<p>Jeff sits back on the heels of his and looks absolutely wrecked. Kent realizes that he probably does too, so avoids mentioning anything. He does however, look his fill and thinks that if he were any younger he’d probably be halfway to a round two. As it stands currently his dick is at least thinking about it.</p>
<p>“Want me to help with that?” he asks, motioning towards where Jeff’s obvious erection is.</p>
<p>Jeff looks down and shrugs. “I’ve actually got to close the store up,” he shoots Kent a morose smile, “Managerial duties and all.”</p>
<p>Right, the store. He’s just been blown in the back of a coffee shop that Jeff’s the manager of. What the fuck was he thinking?</p>
<p><i>You know exactly what the fuck you were thinking</i>, his brain supplies all too unhelpfully.</p>
<p>Jeff pushes himself up off the floor. He readjusts his pants when he stands up and makes his way back towards Kent. He leans back over him. </p>
<p>“Next time though,” he begins, his lips just barely brushing against Kent’s.</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Kent whispers, closing his eyes in preparation. He’s more than okay with a next time if this time is any indication to go off of.</p>
<p>“Text,” is all Jeff says before placing a light peck on his nose. </p>
<p>Kent scrunches up his nose in protest but Jeff’s already turned around to walk back out of the office. </p>
<p>“Hey Kent,” he says when he reaches the door.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“There’s a back entrance out of here if you turn left instead of right.”</p>
<p>“Uh, thanks.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no problem. Don’t want the paparazzi to catch wind.” The wink he sends before twisting the door handle is nothing short of devastating.</p>
<p>Right, paparazzi. There’s no way he doesn’t look like he’s just gotten a blowjob in a back office of this place. He’s always been an easy tell when it came to getting laid, which is why Jack and him had more often than not done it after hours when they weren’t going to be seen for a while longer.</p>
<p>He pulls his underwear and jeans back up. Putters around the room, ignoring the fallen papers in search of his hat. When he finds it he shoves it back down on his head before readjusting his hoodie to cover up his neck. Then he double checks to make sure that the NDA is still in working order. Finally he gets to the office door and turns left at Jeff’s suggestion only to stop and do a double take in the mirror on the wall.</p>
<p>His first thought is, is that he’s glad he’s taking Jeff’s advice in leaving out the back. Even buried in the hoodie, his flushed skin is enough to give him away.</p>
<p>His second thought is, there’s no way he’s not texting Jeff again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
  <li>Panic Attacks</li>
<li>Slight suicidal ideation that's briefly mentioned in a single sentence as a passing thought about the past</li>
<li> Unsafe-ish sex, they do talk about STDs but no actual proof is presented to back up their claims. They're both clean and them ending up actually not being clean won't end part of the plot, but just, stay safe out there. </li>
</ol>
<p>Well now Kent really knows. Also, I head canon, at least in this AU that Kent came out to Shitty as the fifth person as part of that group that Shitty mentions to Bitty in year 1. I know some people head canon Jack as one of them- but if that was the case I imagine he'd probably catch onto him and Bitty way quicker. It also lines up with why he tries to paint Kent in a better light during the Epikegster in Year 2. </p>
<p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> (I promise I don't bite :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yeah there's more sex in this chapter. Also it's roughly April right now in the fic. For timeline's sake- the fic started in February because apparently that's when Vegas gets more rain. </p>
<p>Why yes, I do have a google doc with all of this information sorted out. Not that anybody asked, but it definitely helped me write this whole thing out.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They start hooking up. Or rather, they don’t stop and it’s just one continuous cycle of night turning to day and them falling into each other at any open opportunity. It’s good, it’s easy and it comes with no strings attached.</p>
<p>Kent had been very open about that. Had propped himself up on his elbow after a particularly heavy makeout session on his couch that had led to them exchanging blow jobs. </p>
<p>“Hey, so just that we’re clear- this is friends with benefits right?” he’d asked.</p>
<p>Which Jeff hadn’t really thought about it either which way. Just kind of assumed they were hooking up and that was that. But when presented with a definition he figured going along with it’d be the easiest path forward. Kent was in the NHL and likely didn’t want to be the first out, if ever, and it wasn’t like Jeff could ever bring Kent around to his family.</p>
<p>“Yeah, that works,” he’d responded.</p><hr/>
<p>It’s after a hockey game because that’s something he does now. For all that he’s managed to keep hockey in the past, there’s not much he’ll say no to when it comes to Kent. Plus Scraps remembers him as the friend who was there when he finally managed to get Kent to go out with the team for the first time in forever. So now he’s just kind of default invited because it’s an indisputable fact that hockey players are superstitious, and Scraps is one of the worst offenders. And the Aces are in the playoffs now, so, if anything the superstitions matter all the more.</p>
<p>Apparently Kent’s more mellow, or something, but it’s not like Jeff’s about to point out that it’s likely because he’s getting laid on the regular.</p>
<p>He’s leaning against a wall in one of the quieter hallways because he has special privileges allowing him to be down here now. Management’s happy that Kent’s actually able to make friends outside of hockey and more importantly outside of Jack Zimmermann. Or at least, that’s what Kent had told him. </p>
<p>Kent walks up all easy confidence and charming exuberance. His trademark snapback clashes with his too expensive suit but it doesn’t stop Jeff from wanting to push him against a wall and make out with him until it falls off. Maybe one of these days they’ll figure out if Jeff has enough leftover strength to allow Kent to quite literally “climb him like a tree”. </p>
<p>Jeff’s not entirely sure what that means, but based on how Kent half whispers it to him when they’re drunk and alone and pawing at each other he figures it probably has something to do with sex.</p>
<p>As it stands he just smiles and says, “Good game.”</p>
<p>Kent’s returning smile is blinding. </p>
<p>“Yeah, second win,” he laughs softly after that, like he can’t believe it, “really hoping to sweep them.”</p>
<p>Jeff feels his brows furrow on their own accord. He leans down conspiratorially, “Was that a soundbite?”</p>
<p>Kent snorts but looks up at him, “Maybe, but that’s the only bite you’re going to get if you keep up the chirping.”</p>
<p>Jeff raises an eyebrow and drops his voice, “Oh really?”</p>
<p>Kent visibly shudders, “Fuck, nope, god damn it. I, uh, I think there’s,” he pauses to drop into a barely audible whisper, “I’m like 99% sure there’s a janitor’s closet in this hallway.”</p>
<p>Jeff smirks and leans down to place his lips to the shell of Kent’s ear, “Oh there is.”</p>
<p>Kent pulls away to look up at him, pupils blown wide, “Fucker, if you don’t-”</p><hr/>
<p>They do. And Jeff’s all too pleased. He has Kent cornered against the door and panting breathless words as they inelegantly grope at one another. Kent’s cowlick is on full display and if Jeff wasn’t so worried about keeping up appearances with the rest of the team in roughly an hour he’d be making a mess of it more than it already is. </p>
<p>He’d also really like to be sucking marks into the column of Kent’s throat but since the last time he’d done that Kent had apparently been grilled into near oblivion, he knows better than to risk it. Kent had let everyone assume it’d been a puck bunny (which Jeff found wildly hilarious since he’d literally played hockey and by definition could not in fact be one). In the end though, it was still better safe than sorry and Jeff took the brunt of the marks that showed up nowadays.</p>
<p>Kent lets out a breathy moan as Jeff nips at his ear. </p>
<p>“Wanna blow you,” he whispers into it.</p>
<p>“Fuck, Jeff, you can’t just say shit like that.”</p>
<p>He pulls himself back to look at Kent, “Why not? It’s true.”</p>
<p>Kent unwinds his hands from where they’ve been laying against the back of Jeff’s neck and instead drags them down to grip Jeff’s elbows. He keeps them there as if to steady himself. “Literally everyone will know if you do.”</p>
<p>Jeff shrugs, “Will a handjob work then?”</p>
<p>Kent’s eyes go wide and he nods his head in ready agreement as Jeff begins unbuttoning his pants. Jeff manages to work them down before going back to push his briefs down alongside them. His dick juts out against his hip, already erect from the foreplay. Jeff brings one of his hands up to his mouth to lick a stripe against it before bringing it down to grip Kent.</p>
<p>Kent bites his lip and whispers a soft, “Fuck,” as Jeff begins working his hand up and down his length. He runs his thumb over the slit, using precum to slick the way forward.</p>
<p>“It’d be easier with lube,” he admits.</p>
<p>“Don’t care,” Kent grunts out, as he begins to shallowly thrust into Jeff’s hand, changing his hands position to ball them up in the jersey Jeff’s wearing.  Jeff snorts, bringing his other hand back down to grip Kent from behind. Kent shudders and leans forward, placing his head against Jeff’s chest. “Tighter,” he pleads, more or less murmuring into the fabric.</p>
<p>Jeff obliges and he comes not long afterwards. He lays almost boneless, lazily blinking up at Jeff before a jolt of realization runs through him causing him to pull away. </p>
<p>“Fuck, what about the mess?”</p>
<p>Jeff rolls his eyes at that. “Well, that’s why the blowjob was originally offered.”</p>
<p>Kent groans at that, mumbling something under his breath that vaguely sounds like, “Again, you can’t just say shit like that.”</p>
<p>Jeff huffs out a soft laugh at that. For all that Kent’s an enthusiastic partner in bed, it’s incredibly easy to fluster him out of it. “Fun fact, janitor’s closets do in fact have cleaning supplies in them.” He jerks his head backwards to prove his point.</p>
<p>Kent lets out a heavy sigh that could either be relief or exasperation. Jeff’s found recently that it’s often a toss up to which is the correct characterization. He turns back to find some paper towel, wiping his hand against it before ripping the offending sheet off from the rest of the roll. He wads it up and drops it in a short trash can sitting in the corner of the room, which luckily already has stuff in it so it won’t appear too suspicious.</p>
<p>When he turns back to Kent he finds that he’s since relocated his hat and appears less disheveled than one would imagine someone who’s just gotten off in a closet would be. His dress shirt is re-tucked into his pants and even the middle button on his suit jacket has been re-done.</p>
<p>“Shall we?” Jeff asks, gesturing to the door. </p>
<p>“Wait- what about you?” Kent asks, peering up at him.</p>
<p>Jeff just shoots him a smile that borders a smirk, “Handled that before the game.”</p>
<p>Kent chokes on his next words, “Were you planning this?”</p>
<p>Jeff just winks, “I mean the hallway was empty. Seemed like a waste to not take advantage.”</p>
<p>Kent goes still at that, “But what if it’s not anymore.”</p>
<p>Jeff steps forward to cup his jaw and kiss him softly. “I’ll go first. If anybody asks I got lost and thought it was a bathroom. When it’s clear I’ll let you know.”</p>
<p>Kent nods, his body returning to a more languid state. “Okay, yeah, sounds good.”</p><hr/>
<p>They’re both back at Kent’s place after celebrating with the team. Kent’s sitting on the kitchen island across from the stove, legs dangling and ankles crossed. He places his weight on his arms, palms pressed down to lean back and enjoy the view.</p>
<p>Jeff’s cooking for him, and if the red sauce simmering in the pan and the noodles in the pot that looked close to boiling’s any indication, Kent would place his bets on spaghetti. Which sounds fantastic after a night of half drinking things shoved at him before setting them down somewhere and never returning. The team keeps treating him like the prodigal son returning, even though he’d never really left. </p>
<p>Jeff had ditched first with Kent only lasting only slightly longer than that. But he’d gone out and it had made Scraps happy, and the team seemed to regard him in a better light. At the very least they were clicking on the ice better and what with their heading to Los Angeles he’d take what he could get.</p>
<p>Which fine, he had no doubt it was Scraps behind it, and Scraps was a good A who was just trying to impress upon everyone the idea of team unity. But the team had practice in the morning tomorrow before they’d have to be shuttled off to LA to settle in for the next two games. And then if they didn’t win those next two games it’d be back to Vegas again to continue to duke it out for even longer. </p>
<p>He ducks down at the weight of the long stretch of the rest of the playoffs in front of him. It’d been three years since the last time he’d won the Stanley Cup, but you never really forgot the grueling toll it took on your body. He hunches his shoulders closer fighting back the voices in his head telling him that this was his cross to carry since he’d chosen this over Jack.</p>
<p>He glances up at Jeff who appears at ease puttering around his kitchen. He feels something loosen in his chest. Everything with Jeff was easy. Even the whole friends with benefits thing. He’d been the one to bring up the NDA. He’d been the one who’d initiated their first hookup (even if Kent had been the one to initiate their first kiss). He’d been the one who’d integrated so easily into the rest of Kent’s life it was like they were all but living in each other’s pockets. It almost felt like Jack, but better. They’d even managed to put a label on what they were- albeit friends with benefits, but it still felt more concrete than anything previous.</p>
<p>He allows himself a soft smile as he watches Jeff dole out plates for the both of them. Yeah, he’ll let himself have this distraction.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent’s curled up in the down comforter that’s currently cooling his skin. They’d kicked it off in the events following their late night snack of spaghetti. Which if he was honest, he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to have with his meal plan. But the thought of a long fight to the end only reminds him of how much weight he’d lost last time and figures he’s good for it.</p>
<p>He’s still only 23 and with his workout plan it’s not like it’s exactly a fight to keep his svelte figure.</p>
<p>He wriggles further down into the comforting mass surrounding him as he hears the air conditioner kick on. Heavy footsteps pad into the room. He can’t help the smirk that slices across his features. He’d more than gotten Jeff back for earlier in the janitor’s closet and Jeff was likely returning from the bathroom.</p>
<p>Neither says anything for a moment. Kent screws his shut and tries to even his breathing. Maybe if he’s not awake Jeff won’t ask if he can sleep in the same bed as him and he won’t have to stumble through an answer. </p>
<p>“You gonna move over?” he finally asks.</p>
<p>Kent forces himself not to respond. Feeling slightly embarrassed by the fact that he can’t move now or the gig will be up, but if he doesn’t move then Jeff might take the guest room on his own accord. </p>
<p>There’s a deep sigh and then the sound of rummaging around on the floor for what’s likely Jeff’s underwear. The bed dips not long after and Jeff scoots in close to him. His hand hovers over Kent’s side. He can feel the heat emanating off of him. Another sigh. The hand makes for his hair instead and runs through it once, twice. </p>
<p>“I miss making spaghetti,” comes the whisper. It’s all but a confessional, the reverence in its cadence obvious even in the soft tone. He almost shifts to comfort him but Jeff moves before he can make up his mind. He turns to the other side of the bed to plunge the room in darkness when he switches the lamp off. The blackout curtains to hide them from prying eyes don’t even allow for swathes of moonlight to seep in.</p>
<p>“I used to make it with my mom, but we don’t talk much anymore.” The sentence is punctuated by a shaky intake of breath. Silence falls in between the both of them and neither makes a move to fill it. </p>
<p>Jeff turns over, only bothering to half cover his legs. He runs hot, and while that might be nice in the winter, April calls for 80+ degree days. </p>
<p>Kent’s never felt so close and so far away from someone at the same time.</p><hr/>
<p>They don’t talk about it. But they’re just friends with benefits so Kent doesn’t really think about it. Jeff had to leave for an early shift the next morning and Kent had to travel to LA and by the time that was over it wasn’t really at the forefront of his mind anymore. Jeff had probably already called his mom. </p>
<p>Maybe he should call his own mom.</p><hr/>
<p>He’s a little excited and a lot tired. It doesn’t stop the fact that he’s still mostly running on adrenaline. They’d just managed to sweep the Kings in four rounds which meant he’d have roughly a week of downtime before he’d be back to playing. And yes, technically he’d basically passed out in the hotel after the game before they left the next morning but the buzzing under his skin hadn’t dissipated. He feels like a livewire, ready to light up at a single touch.</p>
<p>Which is probably why he all but jumps Jeff when he shows up at his condo.</p>
<p>“Well, hello to you too,” he says as he pulls back and shifts his weight to cradle Kent’s back.</p>
<p>Kent grumbles and tries to chase after Jeff’s lips again. He just really needs to get his hands on Jeff like yesterday. He’s still keyed up from their wins and his increasingly dirty thoughts. Namely that he wants to pay back Jeff for everything he’s done already. Maybe some distant part of him is convinced that his teammates are correct in that his getting laid is helping him relax more on the ice. He keeps denying it solely because it’s Jeff who he’s fucking but there might actually be some truth to it. </p>
<p>Or not. </p>
<p>He’s really horny and not entirely caught up in the semantics of it. Just really into how stupid good Jeff looks in that t-shirt that’s slightly too tight and those jeans- God. Does he not know what he’s doing? Regardless he needs to take Jeff apart and he has a plan to do it and the couch will work just fine with said plans.</p>
<p>Jeff pulls further away. “My condomate’s home,” he hisses and jerks his head towards a bedroom that’s actually relatively close.</p>
<p>Kent feels his eyes go wide and his heart stops beating in his chest. </p>
<p>“My bedroom’s this way.”</p>
<p>Kent nods and follows close behind, because he might not want to get caught but knowing that this is still safer than the janitor’s closet at the rink helps. He might not be entirely in the right of mind because he’s really fucking turned on right now, but the idea of sneaking around just lends to the heightening of his senses. Every creak in the floorboard, muffled noises from outside, the slide of an ice cube falling in the door of the fridge- he’s hyperaware of it happening.</p>
<p>He puts that to good use as soon as Jeff closes the bedroom door and locks it. He feels almost empowered as he pushes Jeff up against the door. Sliding his hands through Jeff’s hair in the way that he knows he likes, pulling just shy of hard against the strands to elicit a porn-worthy half moan that he quickly swallows up with his mouth.</p>
<p>“Think you can hold me?” He breathes out as he quickly ends the kiss.</p>
<p>“Yeah, uh, I uh, should be able to,” Jeff agrees, shaking his head in a yes motion.</p>
<p>Kent jumps up at that and enjoys the feeling of Jeff palming his ass through his jeans. Fuck, maybe he should’ve worn sweatpants. They definitely would’ve been easier to push down than having to deal with the fumbling that he’s well acquainted with at this point. He groans as Jeff pushes them closer together and the friction forces him to lose his train of thought.</p>
<p>Jeff walks the both of them back and Kent scrambles to get ahold of Jeff’s shoulders. He’s not a defense man's level of hockey weight, but he knows he’s not exactly a slip of something either. Regardless he can’t imagine how pushing all his weight on Jeff’s neck would go down. Actually they’d probably both go down, and that image in itself is funny so he lets a giggle out as Jeff drops him all but unceremoniously on the bed.</p>
<p>“So you think that’s funny, hunh?” Jeff asks, something glinting in his eyes.</p>
<p>Kent shakes his head a little too fast. The whiplash effect is immediate but he still manages to get some words out. “Nah, something else.”</p>
<p>He looks up and Jeff’s gaze has gone soft, like Kent’s someone that matters. Like Kent’s something that deserves to be worshipped. But truth be told he’s never been one for talk of idols, even for all that he’s never been one for religion. </p>
<p>It’s gone as quick as it comes. </p>
<p>And then he’s far too distracted by Jeff’s working on peeling his shirt off of himself. Kent feels his mouth go dry at the flex of muscles on display. He might not play hockey anymore but he certainly never gave up on working out.</p>
<p>Jeff leans forward to catch Kent’s mouth in a kiss, his hands working on getting Kent out of his own shirt. Kent goes willingly but when they have to break apart to pull it off of him completely he puts a hand on Jeff’s chest to keep the distance afterwards. </p>
<p>“I want to do things to you,” he says, pitching his voice lower.</p>
<p>Jeff huffs. “Have your way with me then,” he says, dropping on the bed next to him.</p>
<p>It’s not entirely fair the way his voice does things to him. He tries to stop the shudder that runs through him, but is probably unsuccessful if the way Jeff’s pupils are blown wide and the hooded look he sends him is anything to go off of. </p>
<p>“It’s going to require lube,” Kent manages to grit out. He’s mostly just impressed that he hasn’t spontaneously combusted.</p>
<p>Jeff hums in affirmation and pushes himself up on his elbows before rolling over on his side to open the drawer to the side table. He rummages around for a split second before sending something flinging in Kent’s direction. Yup, lube.</p>
<p>“You uh, cleaned up down there right?”</p>
<p>“No Kent, I’ve never been one for personal hygiene ever,” he replies almost lazily as he leans back down into the pillows.</p>
<p>Kent scrunches up his nose and sticks his tongue out in retaliation. “Oh my God, do you or do you not want to be fingered?”</p>
<p>Jeff waves his hand in a slow, lazy motion. “Yeah sounds good,” he pauses, “And for the record, it is clean down there.”</p>
<p>Kent nods in affirmation and settles himself in between the V of Jeff’s legs. He has to press against him to get a good angle, but he begins by sucking marks into the column of his throat and continuing downwards until he reaches the waistband of his boxers and jeans. He nips along the edge before pulling back to look at his handy work. Bruises blossom upwards like a bloody bouquet and he tries not to think about whether or not Jeff likes roses.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, moving towards unbuttoning Jeff's jeans and taking his time discarding them until they lay forgotten on the floor. He leans down to nuzzle at his dick through the fabric of his underwear. Jeff inhales sharply and he takes that as encouragement to suck through the fabric.</p>
<p>A large hand comes up behind Kent and cards through his hair slowly as Jeff whispers a continuous string of curses. He pulls off, but only slightly, before moving up towards the top of his boxers. He’s careful, only nipping at the skin on purpose once before gripping the elastic in his teeth. He pulls it down as far as it can go until his neck’s straining and it gets stuck on Jeff’s tented erection. He huffs in annoyance before bringing up his hands to pull it down and off so that it lays somewhere else in the labyrinth of strewn clothes.</p>
<p>He looks up at Jeff through his lashes, bats them and watches as Jeff’s body responds to that. The moan that he’s responsible for ripping from Jeff’s body sets his nerve endings alight and he’s only rubbing his thumbs in circles on the inside of both thighs.</p>
<p>He kisses his way up, leaving half-hearted bites on the inside of his left thigh. When he reaches his dick, he takes the balls into his mouth first before moving on to lick a stripe up the underside. He stops to suck softly on the tip and enjoys the way Jeff arches into the motion. Then he takes him down, vaguely aware that Jeff shouts something intelligible as he goes to hollow out his cheek as he sets a rhythm.</p>
<p>He needs a break for air at some point, taking his mouth off with an obscene pop, and sets about finding the lube. It ends up being half covered in the comforter and he looks up in triumph when he stumbles upon it.</p>
<p>He looks back up at Jeff, enjoying the picture of him mottled with flush and bitemarks. His hair is slicked back with sweat and his eyes glint with greed. He breathes in and out in measured time. Kent can barely stand it so he leans forward again to catch his mouth in a messy kiss, more a clash of tongue and teeth than anything else. </p>
<p>He stops when he opens the bottle of lube, rubbing it between his fingers, before beginning to circle the outside of his hole. Jeff bucks up, his cock dragging against Kent’s stomach. Kent kisses him thoroughly this time, licking into his mouth with long drawn out strokes, not letting Jeff win the battle for dominance.</p>
<p>He pushes his middle finger in, slowly so as not to hurt him, but even still Jeff gasps into the next kiss. He tries to shove upward to get more friction but all Kent does is hold him down before slowly pulling it back out again.</p>
<p>“Nuh uh,” he whispers, placing a chaste kiss on his swollen lips.</p>
<p>Jeff groans in response, flopping his head back against the pillow before fisting his hands in the sheets. Kent smirks before heading back down. He pours more lube on his fingers before taking Jeff’s dick back in his mouth. He revels in the moan that Jeff produces with that before he slides two fingers in excruciatingly slow. He takes his time scissoring him open, even though he has no real intention of going beyond this tonight.</p>
<p>Eventually Jeff is left only stuttering half formed words and pleading that sum up to something along the lines of “More”. Kent’s all too happy to oblige, slipping a third finger in, purposely on a hunt for his prostate this time. </p>
<p>Jeff makes a punched out sound and his whole body goes taut. In the next moment Kent feels the bitter taste hit the back of his throat. He swallows it down with minimal grimacing before pulling off and out of him. Jeff beckons him upwards and they meet in a filthy kiss, trying for dominance, that Kent quickly loses this time when Jeff gets his pants unbuttoned and his briefs down past his cock. </p>
<p>He goes still as Jeff works his precum down his length, the friction just shy of painful, but still good. He comes in what he’d normally consider an embarrassingly short amount of time if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been hanging on a thread since probably the end of the last game. </p>
<p>When he can finally open his eyes and his breathing has slowed he allows himself to enjoy the image of a wrecked Jeff. He finally brings his eyes up to meet Jeff's.</p>
<p>“Like what you see?” Jeff asks, satire rounding out his tone.</p>
<p>Kent snorts, “Not in the slightest.”</p>
<p>Jeff huffs at that and just reaches for the tissues to clean up the mess that Kent had made on his stomach. “I’ll be back,” he announces as he pushes himself up off the bed.</p>
<p>Kent makes an affirmative noise as he reaches for his phone to scroll on to do something in the meantime. He’s only slightly embarrassed that he let it stay in his pocket the entire time. </p>
<p>Jeff makes his way around the room, picking up articles of clothing as he goes. When he’s sufficiently dressed he turns, “Want anything to drink?”</p>
<p>“Water?”</p>
<p>“You sure? We have Gatorade.”</p>
<p>“The blue kind?”</p>
<p>Jeff’s smile reaches his eyes, “Of course.”</p><hr/>
<p>Kent rolls over on his side. He can’t fall asleep. Jeff had spent the rest of the afternoon teaching him how to count cards, or at least trying to. Kent wasn’t the best student. Especially when he kept getting distracted and particularly handsy with his teacher. </p>
<p>He’s keyed up again, but not in the fun way that he’d been before. He figures out why when he feels the tightness form in his chest. The part where he can’t breathe won’t take long to manifest now.</p>
<p>Fuck, he’d been enjoying this thing with Jeff. The no expectations beyond fucking around had definitely pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind. Apparently masking his problems isn’t the cure all he’d been enjoying so far, as well as hoping for. And this is the first time Jeff’s had him stay over, normally it’s Jeff crashing at his place or them separating before the night’s over. And now he’s fucking it up on the first time over, oh God, what a fuck up fuckbuddy he is.</p>
<p>Jeff rolls over and his breath catches in his throat.</p>
<p>“Hey are you okay?” he asks, sleep coating his words and making both his accent and pronunciation thicker.</p>
<p>“Uh,” is all he can manage to get out before the wrack of anxiety rushes through him. He can’t breathe. A high pitched inhale of air that does nothing comes next.</p>
<p>Jeff blinks awake and props himself up, “What do you need from me?”</p>
<p>In between one inhale and exhale he manages to push out the word, “Touch.”</p>
<p>Luckily Jeff figures it out and pulls Kent into his side. He strokes down Kent’s arm, rubbing calming circles into his elbow when he reaches it. Kent leans into the touch, enjoying the grounding feeling it provides. Jeff switches into what Kent assumes is French and the quiet lilt pulls him up and back into himself. It almost feels like he’s back with Jack.</p>
<p>He doesn’t mention that. </p>
<p>Instead he waits until Jeff drifts back off into sleep. He stares up at his face. It’s calm, stoic, and safe. He snuggles into Jeff’s chest, half-heartedly drawing patterns on it. He’s not sure how long he waits before he says anything.</p>
<p>“I, uh, I like makeup. The art of it is really intriguing to me, but I can’t really do anything about it because of my job.”</p>
<p>Jeff’s breathing stills. Kent thinks he’s been caught, feels his cheeks burn at the thought of that. This was just supposed to be a practice run to see if letting Jeff into more aspects of his life would feel, he wasn’t actually supposed to hear that. Jeff’s breathing evens out.</p>
<p>Kent lets out a sigh of relief. Both in that Jeff hadn’t heard and that Jeff hadn’t surpassed Jack in comfort levels. He’ll still get back with Jack in the end, Jeff is just here for the time being. </p>
<p>After all, they’re only friends with benefits.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
  <li>Panic Attacks</li>
  <li> Slight worry about being outed </li>
</ol>
<p>Did Jack fuck Kent up good? Yeah. </p>
<p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ayooooooooooo anyway I got a comment recently asking how I could tag this story as "slow-burnish" when they're already hooking up and honestly I did contemplate adding that tag up until I uploaded chapter 2. And, no spoilers, but there's a reason why the total number of chapters is 28. </p><p>Anyway, Content/Trigger warnings at the end. There is sex in this chapter as well, but I'd check the content warnings bc it might be someone's squick.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So Kent has anxiety. And not just the baseline anxiety that he knows he personally deals with on a day to day basis. It would probably be worse if he still drove or still lived even remotely close to his hometown but he’s done a good job removing those stressors. But Kent, Kent has bad anxiety. The kind that causes attacks from seemingly non-existent triggers.</p><p>Jeff wonders if he has a therapist. </p><p>He wonders if he doesn’t.</p><p>Wonders if he does have a therapist but hasn’t been able to see them because of the playoffs.</p><p>Jeff shakes his head. He’ll bring it up after the playoffs. Kent might just need a break and since they just swept LA, they’ll definitely have that for at least a couple days.</p><p>He probably shouldn’t bring up the thing he heard last night then either. He’d been still half awake trying to be aware of Kent but ended up falling off into a state of not entirely there shortly after he felt Kent’s breathing settle. </p><p>Kent had tensed after the confession like a kid with their hand caught in the candy jar so Jeff hadn’t said anything. Instead staying awake, in a state of hyper aware and wrung out, before landing in a fitful sleep. </p><p>He looks down at Kent who’s currently bracketing him against the bed. His face is soft in the calm of sleep, allowing the pale freckles dusting his cheeks to stand out from the rest of his skin. He has a smooth slope of a nose that’s broken vaguely in the middle, likely from a hockey fight, even if Kent’s not one to normally get involved in those. Jeff distantly wonders if he had been able to continue playing if they would’ve been on the same team. If he would’ve gotten involved in that same fight. If he would’ve gotten his nose broken instead of Kent. </p><p>Something wet slides down the pane of his stomach breaking him from his reverie. He glances down. Kent’s drooling. He snorts. Kent scrunches his nose up and tightens his grip around him, shoving his chin further down into his own spit.</p><p>Jeff sighs. He still has to work the late shift tonight and if he’s lucky he’ll only have to field a minimal inquisition from Birdie. He carefully extracts himself from Kent, ignoring the high-pitched keening noise he makes. As it is, his self-control is already straining against a paper thin capacity. He shoves a pillow towards him and Kent latches on instantly, wrapping his arms around it like an octopus. </p><p>He stands up to stare at him for a minute before allowing himself to press a soft kiss to his temple. He pulls away again. Yeah, he’ll let him rest. It’s obvious that he needs it.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s late, late enough to be early. And yet there’s still music pulsing up through the floorboards of Kent’s house. The Aces are up two to one in the series against the Sharks and Jeff’s currently making out with their captain up against his bedroom door. He’s grateful for the music for the first time in probably ever because that means nobody’ll hear either of them. </p><p>He bites at the bottom of Kent’s lips and smiles into the next press of a kiss when he feels Kent stick it out in a pout. Kent pulls back and hisses a soft, “Mean.”</p><p>Jeff huffs a laugh out at that before leaning forward to his ear. “No, your goal in the second period was mean.” He punctuates his sentence with a nip at Kent’s earlobe before trailing down his neck, pressing a wet trail down his throat more for the effect than to leave a mark. There’s not exactly enough puck bunnies at the party to hide behind when up until a couple of hours ago, he was mark free.  </p><p>(Sometimes Jeff wishes he could leave marks because it seems a little unfair that he’s a walking pop art painting while Kent remains a blank canvas full of potential).</p><p>But regardless, he has plans and that includes ignoring Kent’s confused stuttering at his previous comment. He moves his hands from Kent’s hips and moves them to grip Kent from behind. Kent groans into the next kiss, the increased friction flaring up between the both of them. </p><p>“Your goal in the second period was absolutely dirty,” he continues, only stopping to pepper light kisses along his jaw.</p><p>Kent squirms out of his hold, managing to place both his palms against Jeff’s chest, forcing distance between the two of them. “What?” he asks, incredulous.</p><p>Jeff just stares at him in the half-light seeping up through the crack of the door. He glances down to double check that it’s been locked, sees that it is and then glances back up at Kent. He slowly eases his hand off of his ass and brings them down to hang by his side. He refuses to make Kent feel uncomfortable.</p><p>“What do you mean that goal was dirty? That was a perfectly respectable goal. We didn’t even have somebody try to call it in review!”</p><p>Jeff laughs, he can’t help himself. Kent’s face screws up in an inscrutable fashion. He brings a hand up to stroke a thumb over Kent's cheek and the soft freckles that he can’t see but knows are there anyway. “Kent, that was an attempt at dirty talk.”</p><p>Kent’s eyes go wide and Jeff can feel the heat that rushes under the palm that’s currently cupping the underside of Kent's jaw. </p><p>“I, uh, I-” he starts.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Jeff says, cutting him off. “However, I do have plans on congratulating you for the game.”</p><p>Kent straightens at that and leans up to kiss him, which quickly devolves into something filthy in its own right. He’s also the one to pull away again. </p><p>“Well get on with the congratulations then,” Kent’s voice the epitome of nonchalance.</p><p>It’s an easy facade to see through. His eyes are a little too dark and his speech a little too hurried. </p><p>Jeff smirks leaning back down into his space, “Oh I will.”</p>
<hr/><p>Kent’s currently face down, trying not to bite down too far into the pillow. Jeff’s barely done anything beyond trail soft touches down his sides before gripping his hips, but he’s at least a little turned on and currently struggling not to rut into the sheets underneath him.</p><p>The party feels so far away.</p><p>Jeff presses kisses, starting at the base of his neck, trailing downward before ending at the curve of his ass. Teeth meets flesh and Kent’s mouth falls open. He can’t help it, a moan falls from him as he rocks back into Jeff. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind something about not wanting to be marked flares up, but in the moment he can’t exactly bring himself to care. If anybody asks, he’ll just say it’s a bruise, he just needs this, needs Jeff.</p><p>Next comes the stripe of tongue, a long stroke against his hole. He clutches the sheets harder, fisting his hands in them tighter, and feels his back bow. God, Jack had never done anything like this before. And then he stops thinking. Because Jeff is nothing if not meticulous in everything he does, even if it’s taking Kent apart. Jeff continues his crusade, alternating between light flicks of his tongue and broad strokes.</p><p>Scratch that, especially when he’s taking Kent apart.</p><p>Kent loses himself in the feeling. He’s pretty sure he’s floating, the only thing grounding him to reality being the broad hands gripping him and the rough stubble brushing against the inside of his thighs. He feels himself come back into himself when Jeff’s tongue breaches him and the guttural groan is nearly animalistic.</p><p>“Fuck, Jeff,” he manages to grunt out.</p><p>Jeff stops and the high keen he emits would embarrass him if he weren’t so far gone already. Jeff leans up and over, covering him entirely.</p><p>“Shush, it’s alright,” he whispers, half rumble.</p><p>It goes straight to his dick, the heat low in his stomach already simmering. </p><p>Jeff works his way back down, pressing more kisses as he goes. Kent only wriggles a little bit towards the end. And then Jeff’s pressing a kiss right there and there’s a hand wrapped around his dick. He fucks into it, slowly and in time with the tongue pressing into him. </p><p>He’s pretty sure he whites out when he comes. The skin of his lip is broken where he bit through, likely an act of self-preservation in containing the noises that had to have been escaping from him the entire time.</p><p>Jeff’s pressed over his back again, asking him to push thighs together. He’s too tired to argue, even though he feels like a pb&amp;j sandwich without the peanut butter or bread. And then Jeff’s rutting into his thighs from behind, coming not long after if the aftershocks above him are anything to go off. </p><p>Jeff rolls off and lays down on his back. “Good celebration gift?”</p><p>Kent barely manages to choke out a laugh at that. “Jesus, yeah, uh, how the fuck am I supposed to go down there now and tell everyone to get the fuck out of here?” He flops on his stomach, before rolling over onto his side and into Jeff’s.</p><p>Jeff looks down at him, slightly bemused. “Call a complaint on your own party.”</p><p>Kent laughs with his whole body at that. “Oh my God, can you imagine?” He screws his face up and pitches his voice lower to mimic a cop, “And who is this calling?” before switching into his normal voice, “Oh, uh, Kent Parson, yeah Kent Parson of the Vegas Aces.”</p><p>“Uh, Mr. Parson- you are aware this is your residence, correct?” he returns to the role of the officer.</p><p>“Yes, I’m well aware, however I just want my team to leave me the fuck alone so I can go the fuck to sleep before they figure out who I’m sleeping with.”</p><p>He trails off into more laughter at that, Jeff following him, until Jeff leans down to capture his mouth with a kiss. It’s soft and languid and he can’t help but smile into it until it ends when they both devolve into more laughter.</p><p>Jeff kisses him on the nose, “Or you could just text Scraps and have him help you wrangle everyone out the door.”</p><p>Kent looks up at him, “That’s honestly not a bad idea.” He tries not to think about how he feels slightly bad that he’s relying on Scraps for so much.</p><p>Jeff bumps their noses together. “Stop thinking so much. It’s not exactly a one person job to wrangle a bunch of hockey players around, no matter if they’re drunk or not.”</p><p>Kent screws his eyes shut, but nods regardless. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replies before sliding out of the bed. He stumbles around in the dark before shucking on a pair of sweatpants that are at least a day old and a t-shirt that’s too big on him.</p><p>Jeff peers at him through the darkness, “Is that my shirt?”</p><p>Kent shrugs, the shirt slips off of his shoulder, exposing a collarbone in the process. “Probably.”</p>
<hr/><p>Jeff wakes up in the morning and realizes that he never noticed when Kent slipped back into bed in the middle of the night. He’s still wearing the shirt that he’d thrown on last night, although he’s since lost the sweatpants. He’s also tucked into the comforter, wrapped up in it in almost the shape of a ball. </p><p>In the early morning gray he allows himself a moment of confession. He wonders if that’s what they’ve become to each other. Someone to spill their confidentialities to, all the while wishing they had what the other does. He combs his hands through Kent’s hair to steady himself.</p><p>“Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d never gotten into that car accident. Maybe we’d have played together,” he muses.</p><p>Kent shuffles in towards his warmth but doesn’t say anything to suggest he’s heard. The birds chirp outside. He still feels alone.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent’s grateful that Scraps doesn’t ask questions. Stories are one thing, but you have to do the asking. Or at least, he never entertains them out loud. His facial expressions, however, do plenty.</p><p>Like when Jeff starts hanging around a lot more and Kent just supplies that he’s an old friend from the Q. (Which, that’s pushing it but they’re friends with benefits now, implying that they are in fact friends so he’s willing to count that as close enough). Scraps’ eyebrows remain furrowed until Jeff downloads Duolingo to try and learn Russian and then they get into it about how the app is terrible at accurate grammar in other languages so he ends up buying a grammar book that Scraps recommends, instead, and practices with him when he can. </p><p>Jeff’s terrible at it, explains that he barely understands the basics of French which is his actual second language, but they’re normally flirting with drunk when him and Scraps practice so Kent just finds the whole thing terribly endearing. Sometime after Jeff manages to stutter out a sentence that he probably doesn’t understand in its entirety, Scraps’ forehead finally smooths out.</p><p>Or when Kent rolls out of his bedroom after disappearing for a stint wearing a shirt that’s decidedly too big for him. His gaze is a little too perceptive while Kent wraps his arms tighter around himself.</p><p>“Just a sleep shirt, dude,” he explains without being prompted verbally. Scraps’ mouth goes to open and protest something but Kent doesn’t let him continue. “Gag gift from my cousin.”</p><p>And later when they’re checking off players from the list they’ve written to make sure everyone makes it home safely, “Didn’t want to be chirped for it from the other guys on roadies.” </p><p>And when it’s just Kent and Scraps left and Scraps is on his way out, “Yeah Jeff dipped awhile ago, think he had an early shift.” Scraps’ gaze is soft, or as soft as it can be with his marred complexion due to the scar on his right cheek. The nod he gives is almost imperceptible.</p><p>Or even now when he just really wants to go home and Scraps’ mouth is set in a thin line of disapproval? Worry? Something. Anyway it’d be more accurate to say he just wants to be with Jeff. He does not dwell on wondering when spending time with Jeff became synonymous with home. Tells himself when he does that it’s because Jeff is hockey but without the trauma. </p><p>“Just tired,” he says before heading to his car. </p><p>“Tell Swoops I say hello,” Scraps calls after him into the dark.</p><p>And if Kent were anymore awake then he is right now, he’d probably tense up. But as it is, he just waves a hand up behind him to signify he’s heard. “Yeah, sure, when I see him,” he responds. He’s not entirely sure his words are properly whipped around in the desert air, but the night is still and he’s also not entirely sure he cares.</p><p>If he climbs into his affordable sedan that’s more meant for a soccer mom heading towards brunch than the captain of an NHL team in Sin City and leans his forehead against the wheel because he’s tired from the weight of it all, he definitely doesn’t tell anyone. Certainly not Scraps who’s likely still standing somewhere in the parking lot debating on whether or not he should for once use his words for something other than light-hearted stories, no matter how self-conscious he still is of his English. </p><p>Kent sighs, he definitely doesn’t deserve him, probably doesn’t deserve Jeff. Even if Jeff hadn’t dropped out of the draft solely because of his father’s death. Had apparently been involved in that same car accident, survived by some miracle, and ended up not being able to play hockey professionally. </p><p>Oh God, was he always going to be attached to somebody who almost made it but never quite crossed the finish line? More importantly, was it somehow his fault? With Jack he’d been there the entire time and had likely been a source of his anxiety. He hates himself more whenever he tries to wrestle with the memories. He’d almost fucking killed Jack. And then there’s Jeff- who even if they had only crossed paths a couple of times in the Q and he knew logically he hadn’t caused the car accident, what if because they were supposed to become fuck buddies he’d somehow fucked up Jeff’s life? </p><p>And-</p><p>And he’s outside of Jeff’s condo. Which conveniently has a spot for him to park in since Jeff doesn’t drive. And Jesus no wonder why Jeff hadn’t been that interested in his fancy car. Not that he’d been the one to bring it up, Jeff had, but it’d be safe to assume that Kent drove it often if you didn’t know him well. Something, something, hockey players wanting to show off, something.</p><p>And, oh- Jeff’s standing outside of his car. </p><p>He motions from him to unlock his door. Kent complies. Then Jeff’s opening the door and pulling him out, muttering something about locking it again and he does that too. And then he’s leaning his weight against Jeff and Jeff’s lugging him up the stairs to the condo door and he just kind of blacks out from there.</p><p>In retrospect, playing Game 6 for the Pacific Division standing with next to no sleep probably wasn’t his best idea to date.</p>
<hr/><p>He wakes up, swaddled in Jeff’s comforter, using Jeff’s chest as a pillow. He does not want to dwell on exactly how comfortable he is right now. Or the fact that his hair is definitely still damp, meaning that they’d showered sometime after he’d arrived half-asleep on Jeff’s doorstep. Of which, he remembers in fits and starts, a flash of skin followed by the soothing sensation of something rubbing over him. </p><p>He’s pretty sure Jeff’s fond of paying extra attention to his hair because he hazily remembers leaning into a hand while that was happening. Also, he’s currently surrounded by the scent of coconut and he knows that comes from Jeff’s stupid expensive conditioner. Which, normally he grouses on about if Kent uses it when they shower together at the condo. </p><p>Kent purposely does not think about how his heart is currently jackrabbiting in his throat over that realization. </p><p>So he talks, because he’s not sure what else to do. He feels like a spring wound too tight, like he’ll burst if he doesn’t release some of the tension. “I know I should be more grateful for making it to the NHL, but honestly sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I had dropped out. Like maybe Jack would still talk to me. Or maybe I wouldn’t have to hide. Or maybe I’d actually see my family more often.”</p><p>Jeff slowly blinks his eyes open, his features twisting into concern.</p><p>Kent registers this in his peripheral but it’s like a dam’s been opened and he can’t stop. “But the worst part is I’m not even sure where I’d be without hockey. Like when the lockout happened? God that was a mess, I was basically useless the entire time. I mean what am I good for besides hockey? Hell I barely passed fucking high school. Like I’m not even entirely sure I could do what you do.”</p><p>Jeff brings his hand up against Kent’s cheek, gently rubbing away the tears that have already begun to fall. Kent snorts out trying to get a breath in only to find that he has a stuffy nose from crying and wasn’t that just <i>super</i> attractive?</p><p>“Kent,” Jeff begins softly when Kent’s mostly dissolved into quiet sniffles, “I poured coffee on you that first day at the shop, I’m pretty sure you could do my job, maybe even better.” His tone’s light and sincere and Kent still doesn’t quite believe that he’s deserving of it. </p><p>Still, it’s nice being able to lean into his hand and try to smile through his tears. Which inadvertently only causes him to choke out more sobs, but at least Jeff’s here. Jeff lets him tuck up under his chin and wrap his arms around his middle like a lifeline. Jeff presses a kiss to the cowlick he hates the most and doesn’t even comment on how Kent’s face goes flush afterwards. Jeff whispers soothing words that wash over him and envelop him in a bubble of safety. </p><p>He’s drifting back towards sleep, exhausted again from the emotional energy he’s just expended when he hears Jeff say, “When the time comes and you can’t play hockey anymore, I’ll help you figure out what you want to do next.”</p><p>Kent allows himself to smile at that. It’s a nice thought to drift out on. He has a plan and for now that’s enough. </p><p>God he’s so tired.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
  <li>Not necessarily a panic attack- but definitely an overwhelming feeling of emotions coming from Kent</li>
  <li> A rimjob happens in which they kiss after so, if that's not something you're into, just skip it (the section starts with "Kent’s currently face down," and ends with "Probably.")</li>
</ol><p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> I share cat photos on there if that's enticing to anyone.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had a question last chapter about the timeline for this fic and while I answered that in the comment section, I figured I'd just address it here as well. It's roughly the end of May 2014 right now, if I correctly remember how playoff runs work. As for the lockout I referred to last chapter, it's real and happened during the 2012-13 season. More information about it can be read in the wikipedia article on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012%E2%80%9313_NHL_lockout">the 2012-13 NHL lockout</a>. Granted, I know some of the players went to go play in other leagues around the world at the time, but just for the sake of the story, Kent was not one of them. This is actually one of those scenes you can thank one of my friends for coming up with, as she's been following hockey for far longer than I have.</p><p>As per usual, Content/Trigger warnings placed at the end of the chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They become closer after that. Or as close as closer can get when they’ve already been fucking. Jeff’s not entirely sure what they’re doing anymore because Kent’s not quite the deer caught in the headlights he’d been when this whole debacle had started. He’s more open, chirping him for his shitty Russian and unabashedly moaning around any utensil filled with food that Jeff’s cooked for him. Like something’s settled within him.</p><p>Some nights they don’t even have sex.</p><p>Sometimes they fall asleep on the couch watching mindless television instead. With Kent slowly inching his way closer and closer until he’s basically curled up on top of Jeff. It’s times like that when he’s slowly running his hands through Kent’s hair that he ponders the domesticity of it all. Like maybe it could work, his family’s far enough away. He put the distance there on purpose, so why not utilize it?</p><p>But they don’t really talk about it. And Kent’s the one with the anxiety and Kent’s the one who wanted friends with benefits so Jeff’s not about to push it.</p>
<hr/><p>They’re sitting outside in Kent’s hot tub. Kent dunks under the water only to come up again. He’d managed to get out of offers to hang out by pointing out the need to conserve energy this far into the playoffs. A sharp reminder that even if they won the next home game they’d still have to fly out to Winnipeg, both a time zone and country over. Coupled with his captain’s voice he’d seen multiple faces sober in the locker room.</p><p>He looks up at Jeff and shuffles his way forward through the pulsing jets. Jeff raises an eyebrow when he finally reaches him and grips both of his knees. He doesn’t say anything though so Kent uses his grip as leverage to finagle his way into stradling Jeff’s lap. </p><p>“Hello,” he breathes out when their chests are finally pressed together and his arms are loosely clasped together behind Jeff’s neck.</p><p>“I thought you wanted to relax?” he questions.</p><p>Kent half-shrugs in a response before leaning in to kiss him. It’s lazy in the unhurried manner that comes with knowing that there’s nobody around to catch them. Jeff leans back to change the angle and Kent grumbles as he chases after him. </p><p>In the eternity that this moment holds he tries to pour his emotions into the kiss. He’s hyper aware of all the points where they’re touching. Knees pressed together through wet fabric, Jeff’s hands holding him steady just above his hips, his elbows pressed against Jeff's shoulders. He ducks further, trying to gain control as the kiss turns hotter. </p><p>Jeff just, Jeff just deserves so much. And Kent’s not entirely sure he can give it to him, but he kind of wants to try. So he unclasps his hands, dragging one up through Jeff’s hair, relishing in the moan that it produces from him. He tugs again, promptly biting down on Jeff’s bottom lip when his mouths open in response. He licks in again, taking control this time, only pulling up for air. </p><p>Jeff looks halfway to wrecked.</p><p>“Figured an orgasm might help the whole relaxing idea,” he replies demurely, casting his gaze down, but looking up through his lashes at Jeff.</p><p>Jeff lets out a long groan at that. “Jesus Kent,” he hisses out before utilizing the buoyancy of the water and his upper body strength to haul Kent up onto the edge of the hot tub. He slips into the water in between Kent’s knees.</p><p>Kent works on wriggling his swimsuit down under the heated gaze that Jeff’s supplying. When he manages to kick them off into the water Jeff moves his hands from around his waist to his thighs. Holding Kent in place he angles downwards, licking his way from the head of his dick down to the base and back up again. Kent lets out a broken moan when he finally gets his mouth around his entire length. </p><p>He’s pretty sure his toes are curling underwater against the step in the hot tub and he knows he’s clutching the edge of the tub like his life depends on it. No outside thoughts or worries can permeate this space. And then Jeff hollows out his cheeks and a moan reverberates around his dick and all Kent can think about is the narrow view of him hurtling towards release.</p><p>He must garble something out that’s semi-intelligible because Jeff squeezes his thigh. Jeff swallows him down further, licks up the underside of his dick before swirling around the head again. He comes with a gasp as his eyes fly open. He’s not entirely sure when he’d closed them but the sight they take in of Jeff right now is obscene.</p><p>“Fuck your turn,” he manages to pant out.</p><p>He feels like he’s moving in molasses as he pats the side of the tub next to him. Jeff just shoots him a cocky glance with his eyebrow raised before sidling up next to him. Kent snorts in retaliation before dipping back into the warm water.</p><p>When Kent turns, Jeff’s working on dragging his swimsuit down so he joins in the battle of tugging the stuck fabric off of him. He grins when he sees Jeff’s cock jut out against his hip, flush with color.</p><p>He brings one hand up around it, using the other to steady himself on Jeff’s leg, and slides it up along the length. Ducking his head down he works his way down to where his hand is resting. Then from there he brings his hand up and down and he moves his mouth in time with that. </p><p>He’s never been more grateful to have gone with a saltwater hot tub in this moment. He does not want to think about how badly this would’ve gone if he’d tried this surrounded by chlorine. He tastes the precum forming at the tip of Jeff’s dick and he groans at the conflicting flavors before taking him further into his mouth. His hand goes back down to grip Jeff’s other leg. </p><p>Jeff grips at the back of his head in warning and he just swirls his tongue along the underside before coming back up to suck at his head some more as if to say “And?”. Jeff’s legs go taut under his hands and in seconds he’s coming.</p><p>Kent pulls off and looks up, placing his head against one of his thighs. And God, Jeff’s attractive in his stupid coffee uniform and regular street clothes- he’s even particularly spectacular when he’s wearing a jersey with Kent’s name and number emblazoned on it- but flush and sated like this? He’s gorgeous. Kent turns and purposely sucks a hickey into a spot on the inside of his thigh that he knows is sensitive. </p><p>It’s stupid, he knows to feel things like this when he’s still distantly holding out for Jack to come back. But they’re only friends with benefits. That’s been defined. The fact that he goes warm all over when Jeff strokes his face and pulls him up for a soft kiss is moot.</p>
<hr/><p>They’re both laying on the couch in Kent’s living room. They’d sprung for ordering something greasy after their time in the hot tub, and the promise of food forced them to keep their hands to themselves to keep it quick. Kent hadn’t minded, his sole focus having been watching Jeff’s face light up when he saw that Kent had bought him his favorite coconut scented conditioner.</p><p>He had moaned on about how his nutritionist was going to kill him as he scarfed down a burger. Jeff had just smiled and offered to eat it for him instead if he was so worried. Kent had only eaten the rest of his burger in defiance. If they made out against the kitchen island, well that was between God and the burger wrappers.</p><p>But now they’re on the couch, and Kent’s laying on Jeff like he is the couch, but he hasn’t protested so Kent snuggles further down into the blanket that’s laying over the both of them. Jeff squeezes the one hand of his that he’s already holding.</p><p>Kent lets out a heavy breath. No matter that they’re just friends with benefits, he doesn’t like keeping secrets from Jeff. It probably has something to do with the fact that Jeff has been nothing but kind and accommodating since the beginning. Even with information pelted at him and the need to stay hidden, he’s been game for everything.</p><p>He deserves to know about Jack.</p><p>Kent flips himself over, untangling his hand from Jeff’s and coming to kneel in between his legs, dropping the blanket off behind him.</p><p>Jeff raises an eyebrow, “Not relaxed enough yet?” he asks, a lascivious grin forming.</p><p>Kent shakes his head, and goes to speak but the words get stuck in his throat.</p><p>Jeff furrow’s his eyebrows at that and concern etches into the corners of his features. “Kent, what’s the matter?”</p><p>“It’s just- I just, I mean Jack?”</p><p>“Zimmermann,” he states, because it’s not a question. </p><p>“Yeah, he and I- we were?” and he ends it on a question, because that is.</p><p>Jeff nods, serene in the face of the truth. Kent’s breath hitches, he really truly does not deserve him. Jeff brings his hand up to cup Kent’s face and strokes the tears from his cheek. He wishes he could stop crying around Jeff, he feels weak whenever he does. He turns to press a kiss against his palm, the salty tang of his own tears a reminder of what he’s just done.</p><p>He spares a glance towards Jeff who just looks concerned. He slowly lowers himself onto his stomach, too embarrassed to want to deal with the aftermath of the mess that he’s made. But Jeff doesn’t go to move, only presses a quick kiss to his forehead before turning back to the TV. </p><p>Kent waits for the fallout, over what? He’s not entirely sure. Just, there had always been fallout with Jack. Over his parents, over his pills, over parties, over hockey, over them. Always something. But Jeff just strokes down his back in slow calming movements, eventually settling his one broad hand in the small of his back and the other finding his hand again. He brings it up to his lips and kisses it and Kent feels his heart flutter against his ribcage.</p><p>He feels his eyelids brush against his cheek, heavy from the tears. The call of sleep is reaching up to drag him under and he goes willingly. </p><p><i>This is nice</i>, he thinks to himself right before he falls off into the abyss.</p>
<hr/><p>Jeff presses the palms of his hands into his eyelids. He’s drained. It’d been the workday from Hell and to top it off he hadn’t been able to get Kent’s confession out of his head. He hasn’t been able to get it out of his head at all if he’s honest, but with him taking his time to process it and Kent being in Canada, well that conversation had kind of fallen to the wayside.</p><p>He sighs. Everytime he feels like he gets closer to Kent something else comes spilling out and then Kent’s crying and they’re ten steps back from where they were before.</p><p>Logically he gets it. He knows he has his own shit, he just normally doesn’t spill it onto unsuspecting persons. But it’s not like he’s a stranger in a bar and it’s not like Kent really has anonymity to hide behind. He drags his hands down his face. What Kent really needs is a therapist.</p><p>He resolves again to bring up the fact after the playoffs are over. Win or lose it can’t hurt. Lose especially. He drops his arms down by his sides before bringing one hand back up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He needs to figure out how to handle Kent basically admitting that him and Zimmermann were a thing back in the Q. </p><p>Which, he’d definitely heard the rumors, but had mostly chalked it up to other players being jealous. Hell he’d been jealous too, and he’d been on defense. He just wasn’t the type to go around spearheading rumor campaigns, especially when he wasn’t exactly straight to begin with. There were probably some guys who had hidden behind an over the top show of homophobia, but Jeff could never bring himself to do that, having much preferred letting others assume his sexuality. Although being exceptionally large from a young age and being an enforcer on the ice probably helped with that.</p><p>Kent and Jack didn’t exactly have the same luxury. Especially not when Kent had been all but adopted by the Zimmermanns when Jack took to him. He winces. Kent had only mentioned Jack when they’d talked, not Alicia or Bob, but he can put two and two together. Not only was Jack out of the picture currently, but based on everything he’d seen up to this point, so were his parents. </p><p>He also knows that while he purposely moved away from his family and that that came with its own set of consequences, that he can’t even begin to imagine what Kent's been through. Moving away from not only his biological family, but then being dumped by the second one he'd found in the Zimmermanns. He doesn’t want to judge anybody he doesn’t know particularly well, but at the same time, he can’t imagine being so callous as to pick up Kent like a shiny toy only to discard him just as easily when he was of no use.</p><p>He drags his hands down his face. He knows it’s not really his place, but sometimes he feels like since it’s also nobody else’s, it might as well be his. He sighs again.</p><p>If the news outlets are to be believed then Jack had been a cokehead who’d gotten caught up in the lifestyle of partying too hard. If his parents are to be believed he overdosed on anxiety medication. But Jeff’s seen the guy up close and personal. And no matter his personal feelings on what happened between him and Kent, there’s no way Jack was doing coke. He’d followed Kent around like a shadow and then left with him not long after a party would start and now that he thinks about it, he’s kind of surprised the rumors weren’t more substantiated. And if Kent’s to be believed then they were in fact hooking up. Something about smoke and fire comes to mind.</p><p>He wonders if that’s where Kent gets his anxiety from. </p><p>Wonders if it’s really his business to contemplate that.</p><p>Then he shakes his head and reminds himself that Kent needs a therapist. He’s more than willing to stand by his side but professional help is there for a reason. </p><p>He sucks in a breath. He should probably let Kent know how he really feels, that their being friends with benefits is fucking with his head a little when they don’t just hook up and leave. It had definitely started that way but he’s well aware that it’s since transitioned into more for him at the very least. And how Kent acts around him is definitely not helping anything. He knows that it’ll hurt more if he stays and falls harder, rather than if he leaves now. He’s been around the block a couple times and besides, Kent’s obviously been through some shit and deserves the truth. </p><p>He nods his head definitively. He’ll tell Kent tonight.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent’s flush with victory, his eyes bright even on the dimmed screen. They’re skyping tonight since the game ended late in Winnipeg and Kent won’t be back in Vegas until sometime mid afternoon tomorrow. But the Aces had won the Western Conference and that means they’re going to the Stanley Cup Finals.</p><p>His mouth goes dry and he almost puts off what he needs to say. Kent looks at him weird through the monitor, the screen freezes and then he’s back again in a moment. </p><p>“What’s the matter?” he asks.</p><p>Jeff nearly chokes at that because he’d gotten so used to having Kent be obtuse in his responses. He’d kind of been banking on that tonight to help ease the way into the conversation about his feelings. </p><p>“Uh, I need to tell you something,” he manages to spit out. </p><p>He’s pretty sure his hands are shaking where they’re clutching the side of his laptop. His heart’s in his throat and he idly wonders if a panic attack of his own is on the horizon. He hasn’t had one in a long time but he wouldn’t put it past his anxiety for one to show up now.</p><p>The concerned look on Kent’s face doesn’t go away. Instead his eyebrows furrow together more and he looks like he’s about to say something when a hand from someone out of the screen lands on his shoulder.</p><p>Kent jumps like he wasn’t expecting it and then the screen’s moving up to show the face of Scraps. Jeff inhales sharply, he very well can’t do this shit now if they’ve got an audience. He forces himself to wave back and say hi in Russian. </p><p>Scraps’ face brightens and he rattles off something back in response that Jeff only half gets because he’s both shit at languages and because the connection isn’t the best. The screen is tilted back down and Kent says something about being fine and to tell the team they did a good job tonight.</p><p>Scraps responds in what Jeff assumes is an affirmative because a moment later Kent returns his attention back to the screen. “Hey, what were you going to say?” he asks.</p><p>And Jeff can’t do it. There’s still a minimum of another 4 games the Aces have to play and Kent’s the captain. He can’t just drop that shit onto him without any notice. Maybe he’ll slowly ease Kent into the idea until he comes to the conclusion on his own. Maybe he’ll make sure that Kent’s in therapy first. There’s a lot of different options, he doesn’t have to drop this shit on Kent while he's a country away over a shitty Skype connection because he’s a coward who can’t bear to do it in person.</p><p>“Uh, that I know what it’s like to outed, or almost outed I guess. And I guess I just wanted you to know that I’d never do anything like that to you.”</p><p>Kent stares at him, mouth agape. “Is that, is that why you brought up the NDA?”</p><p>Jeff nods quickly because this hadn’t been the conversation he’d been expecting to have tonight, but now that he is, he has no plans on backing out of it. “Yeah, uh, somebody figured out I was gay shortly before the draft and had plans to let people know.”</p><p>Jeff can hear the squawk of indignation that Kent lets out. Jeff closes his eyes tightly and nods. “Yeah, it was bad. We, uh, we don’t talk anymore.”</p><p>Kent’s silent for a moment before he speaks again, “Did they?”</p><p>Jeff shakes his head, “No, I, uh, wasn’t much use to them when I dropped out of the draft.”</p><p>When he dares to finally open his eyes, he’s met with a terrified gaze and pallid features. “It’s fine now, I don’t talk to them anymore,” he tries to shrug nonchalantly even though he’s pretty sure he’s failed.</p><p>He should’ve told Kent sooner. Like when they’d first started hooking up. Or maybe even before they’d hung out the first time. But really, was there ever a good time to go “Hey, by the way I’ve been threatened with being outed to the world previously, so you don’t ever have to worry about me committing that cardinal sin”?</p><p>Probably not.</p><p>But there’s the panic attack he’d seen coming, and now tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes and it’s really hard to breathe. God he hopes that Birdie doesn’t hear because if she does then he’s going to have to shut the laptop closed and shut Kent out and that doesn’t seem like a great idea when what he actually wants to do is let him know that he has more than friends with benefits feelings. </p><p>He squints his eyes open and spares a glance downwards to see how Kent’s faring. He expects to see him panicked in some form and yet instead he finds a look of fierce determination, often reserved for the ice, sprawled across his face.</p><p>“Jeff, what do you need from me?” he asks, his voice steady.</p><p>“Uh, just talk?” he squeaks out as he tries to focus on his breathing. He’d beg the question if the day could get any worse, but he’s asked that before and he knows that it can so he refrains from doing so.</p><p>Kent talks. He explains the prank Scraps had played on the recent call-up, talks about how he’s always kind of wanted a cat but was never really sure if he would do a good job taking care of one, talks about the goal he scored in the third period that had felt like a relief when they’d been worried about going into overtime since the first. And soon enough, Jeff can breathe in more than short bursts again.</p><p>He moves to lay on his side with the laptop tucked up by his head. </p><p>“Do you want to talk now?” Kent asks after a moment of silence passes.</p><p>Jeff nods, “God I’ve had the day from Hell.”</p><p>And so he talks, he talks until his voice fills with sleep and he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. And then he listens to the lilt of Kent’s voice. Distantly he comes to terms with the fact that he wishes Kent were beside him. And then he’s out.</p><p>When he wakes up in the morning to find the sleeping form of Kent still live on his screen he feels a rush of affection run through him. He looks at him for a moment before pressing a kiss to his fingers and placing them over his figure on the screen. He takes a deep breath and steels himself for reality. </p><p>He needs to tell Kent how he feels, and soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
  <li>Jeff has a panic attack in the last part of the chapter</li>
  <li>Jeff continues to be <i>just</i> friends with benefits and does not tell Kent his real feelings, even though he definitely has them</li>
<li> Mention of someone previously threatening to out Jeff</li>
</ol><p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is sex in this chapter as well, but I just wanted to step in and say there's a potential content warning for one of the scenes, so if you're worried I'd check it out in the end notes. It's nothing crazy, but hey, what somebody wants to skip isn't up to me and I'm certainly not going to judge.</p><p>Oh and when I say Washington- I mean D.C., I figure that'd be obvious with them facing off against the Capitals (at least I think I said they're facing the Capitals, they're facing the Capitals if my coffee hasn't kicked in properly and I'm remembering incorrectly), but also not everyone lives in America and there's also a state named Washington so I just figured I'd clear that up now.</p><p>Content/Trigger warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff is well aware that he’s a coward, a wimp, a plethora of other words that show up when one uses a thesaurus. But he’s pretty sure the saying goes “admitting you have a problem is the first step to fixing it”, so he’ll take what he can get in the form of small victories.</p><p>If that means distancing himself from Kent to try to gain his bearings to see if that’ll help (it doesn’t) he’ll do it. If it means giving up on that idea pretty quickly because he’s not really ready for step 2, and quite frankly probably never will be, and also Kent’s feeling down from being down 2-1 in the Stanley Cup Finals, well, he’ll do it. </p><p>It still doesn’t help.</p><p>But if there’s ever been someone or something worth being addicted to, it’d have to be Kent. They’re both currently half thrown over opposite arms of the couch in Jeff’s condo because Birdie is out volunteering and won’t be back until late. They could probably use the distance between them as an alibi but Jeff knows she’d see right through him. She already knows he’s seeing someone and that he hasn’t shown off who that exactly is. Mostly for Kent’s sake, not that he doesn’t trust Birdie, but rather so that it keeps the anxiety to a minimum. </p><p>(But also because she’ll take one look at the two of them and see how far gone Jeff is and be able to tell where Kent stands and he’s still not ready for that level of truth quite yet). </p><p>So yeah, he’s a coward.</p><p>Kent straightens with a huff, “There’s nothing good on.”</p><p>Jeff shrugs with a noncommittal air. Normally they’d turn on hockey if nothing else was really on but seeing as Kent’s in the literal Stanley Cup Finals and he also isn’t currently playing, it’s not exactly an option. It’s also not like they can turn on Netflix seeing as they’re not at Kent’s place. </p><p>Kent shoots him a sideways grin and his heart unfortunately skips a beat. </p><p>“Bet we could find something more interesting to do,” his eyes are hooded and a smirk has fully settled across his features.</p><p>Right, they’re still technically friends with benefits. And Kent probably wants to blow off some steam because apparently he has no problem with baring his soul and fucking the next day. He wonders how much of that comes from Jack and how much of that is just who he is. </p><p>He’s not sure he wants to know.</p><p>Kent crawls across the couch until he’s angled over Jeff.  “Hi,” he whispers before leaning in to kiss him. </p><p>Jeff hopes he’s smiling into it and not grimacing. His hands go to find the space right above Kent’s hip bones automatically. He rubs his thumbs over the skin there as Kent’s shirt rides up further. Kent takes the lead in the kiss and Jeff lets him. </p><p>The look Kent gives him when he pulls away falls somewhere on the scale between confused and curious. He leans up to peck him chastely instead of answering. He’s not really sure that he’d have the energy to explain even if he wanted to.</p><p>Kent must think better of pursuing however, because the next thing out of his mouth is, “Want to be fucked by a Stanley Cup winner?”</p><p>Which Jeff kind of just wants to be fucked by Kent regardless of whether or not Kent’s held the Stanley Cup above his head. He also wouldn’t mind fucking Kent and everything else in between. But that’s not what he says. Instead he just gasps out, “Bit presumptuous, eh?” as Kent attacks his pulse point.</p><p>Kent snorts into his neck and bites down just slightly. Jeff whines at that, because yeah almost everything Kent does is attractive. And fuck, does he need to get his feelings figured out. </p><p>Kent pulls up to look him in the eyes, licking his lips like he has plans to devour Jeff. “You forget I already won one,” he replies smugly before attempting to pull off his shirt. </p><p>Jeff would probably be more annoyed at that chirp if it wasn’t for the fact that his mouth has gone dry because Kent is truly gorgeous. Yeah, he’s well aware that he’s hopeless.</p><p>“Speechless?” Kent asks, quirking an eyebrow.</p><p>And yeah, he is, so Jeff just leans up to pull Kent down into a filthy kiss.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent’s not dumb, he might’ve spent his formative years entrenched in a bro-like atmosphere that shaped him as a person indefinitely, but he’s not dumb. He’s well aware that Jeff’s been drawing back from him and he is without a doubt scared shitless. The last time somebody had slowly withdrawn from him he hadn’t realized until it was too late. He doesn’t plan on making that same mistake twice.</p><p>Currently he’s kneeling beneath Jeff who’s pressed up against the couch’s arm, dick trapped against the towel that’s currently laid over said couch’s arm. Jeff had been forward-thinking enough to place it down. Kent tries not to wonder if that had been intentional stalling on Jeff’s part, which is quickly followed up by him trying not to wonder why he cares so much. </p><p>He just really doesn’t want to lose Jeff, okay?</p><p>Kent slowly works Jeff open with his fingers and copious amounts of lube. The soft groans, followed up by broken moans when he brushes against his prostate go straight to Kent’s dick. He’s never been more grateful to be wearing sweatpants.</p><p>“Fuck,” Jeff hisses out slowly. </p><p>Kent takes that as his cue, trailing bites along his inner thigh before licking a stripe across his hole when he reaches it. Jeff visibly shudders and Kent grins to himself as he pushes up off of the ground. Jeff’s face is smushed sideways against a pillow when he finally brings himself level with him.</p><p>“Ready?” Kent asks, shucking off his sweatpants. </p><p>Jeff nods his head and responds with a punched out, “Uh huh.”</p><p>Carefully he tears open the condom, rolling it onto himself before slicking up the rest of his length. When he lines himself up with Jeff’s entrance he takes a moment to appreciate Jeff laid out like this. The expanse of his back is gorgeous and the realization of that unsettles something in him. When did he start to find the clump of moles up by his right shoulder cute?</p><p>He shakes his head. Right, he has a plan and that plan is to fuck Jeff senseless against this couch. He pushes in slow, enjoying the tight grip that immediately encompasses his senses.</p><p>Jeff’s breath goes shallow. Short huffs with every slow slide in as Kent goes deeper on each thrust. Kent moves his hands from their position on the couch to grab Jeff’s waist. Using the leverage from that he snaps in on his next thrust in.</p><p>“Oh God,” Jeff moans.</p><p>“You like that?” Kent asks, grinning as he goes to drape himself over Jeff’s back.</p><p>Jeff just nods almost imperceptibly before Kent leans back again to better pull out. This time when he pushes back in he makes sure to bottom out, savoring the long drawn out moan that rattles through Jeff’s body. </p><p>Kent grips Jeff’s hips, wonders distantly if tomorrow there’ll be bruises and a surge of possessiveness runs through him when he thinks about how they’ll be his. Something ignites within him when that realization crosses his mind. He changes the angle to better hit Jeff’s prostate, focusing on chasing both their pleasure. </p><p>Jeff comes first between them, Kent’s hand wrapped around him. Kent follows shortly after, stuttering only slightly as his body shudders through it. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the space between Jeff’s shoulder blades. </p><p>“That good?” he mumbles into the flesh.</p><p>Jeff laughs and Kent’s head moves with the undulations of his body. “Yeah, uh, I’d say so,” he replies. “I mean, I’m not entirely sure how well I’ll be able to walk after that but otherwise,” he trails off. </p><p>Kent feels a bone-deep level of satisfaction settle over him.</p>
<hr/><p><i>Jeff looks good</i>, Kent thinks to himself as he watches him walk back from the bathroom. It’s unfair how sinful he looks with the cut of his hips and the low rise waist of his sweatpants. His traitorous dick twitches under his own sweatpants as if he hadn’t come literal minutes previously. </p><p>Jeff raises an eyebrow at him, a silent chirp in regard to him catching Kent checking him out. Kent just shrugs in response because as far as he’s concerned he’s allowed to look. Jeff snorts before plopping himself back down on the other end of the couch. </p><p>Kent furrows his brow at that. There’s no way Jeff’s not trying to distance himself, but why? The sex is definitely still good, better than good in his opinion, he’d even venture into saying great. </p><p>He can’t stop himself blurting out, “Are you avoiding me?” like the blunt mess that he knows himself to be. Yes, the last time he’d just let everything slide it’d left Jack in rehab but Jeff’s not Jack and a lot has changed since then. He outwardly cringes at his lack of tact.</p><p>Jeff looks just as terrified as Kent feels in the moment. His breathing is shaky, features having gone pale. “I, uh, I, no?” he finishes on a question.</p><p>Kent feels his heart settle somewhere in his throat. Somehow being lied to when he goes out of his way to fix the problem is worse than seeing the culmination effect of him ignoring the signs. It’s like no matter what he does he can’t win.</p><p>“It’s just- I’ve been,” he stutters through his words, closing his eyes before opening them again. “I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot lately,” he whispers softly, the words falling like a leaden weight between the two of them.</p><p>Kent sucks in a breath at that. Right, Jeff’s dad who had died in a car accident. The same car accident that Jeff survived that had also killed his hockey career. Two deaths in one go. </p><p>He wonders what dark poetry could be made of the symmetry of him shacking up with both Jeff and Jack. He does not wonder why Jeff has been thinking about his dad lately. It feels too personal, like he’s not allowed to know the answer to that unless he’s at least met the rest of his affected family. And friends with benefits don’t meet the family. Jeff won’t ever fly out to New York and buddy it up with his step-dad and he’ll never ham it up with Jeff’s sister. That’s what boyfriends do, and they’re not boyfriends. If his heart feels strangled, he ignores it.</p><p>“It’s just sometimes I feel like I’m the one who killed him, you know?” Jeff continues somewhere in the tangential radius of this conversation.</p><p>And Kent does know, he knows that feeling all too well. Except Jack is alive, up at that college in Massachusetts and Jeff’s dad is dead. But Kent’s here and alive and he has absolutely no intention of letting Jeff feel like he did after Jack cut him off.</p><p>He clambers across the surface of the couch towards Jeff, situating himself in between the v of his legs. “Hey, hey,” he whispers, “It’s okay.” He thumbs Jeff’s cheek, brushing off the tears before pressing a kiss to his forehead.</p><p>“No, it’s not,” he chokes out, “Nothing’s okay.”</p><p>Kent stares him down at that, unsure of how to convince him that he’s not alone. That he’s been through his own personal hell and back and that if he has to do everything in his power to help Jeff get through his, he will. </p><p>“If I hadn’t called-”</p><p>Kent shakes his head, forcing his own breathing not to hitch. He does not want to relive the fact that if he hadn’t gone to that party alone Jack might not have overdosed. And maybe he hadn’t necessarily internalized what everyone had said about it not being his fault but he’s sure as hell not going to let Jeff continue that line of thinking. </p><p>“And what? You would’ve been stranded wherever. Maybe whoever you got a ride from would’ve been the person who died instead. The only what if that matters is whether or not the drunk driver chose not to drink and drive.” </p><p>He’s steamrolling his rant and he finds that he doesn’t care. One hand holding Jeff’s face, the other placatingly touching his shoulder to make sure that Jeff’s watching him. He finds strength in the heat of Jeff’s palm sitting just above the waist of his sweatpants.  </p><p>“Then nobody would’ve gotten hurt,” he finishes off softer when he notices Jeff’s wide eyes shining with tears staring up at him.</p><p>Kent leans down to press a kiss to the juncture between Jeff’s neck and shoulder. He continues to press kisses along his collarbone until he feels the tension begin to bleed out of Jeff’s shoulders. Kent settles down on top of him, wrapping his arms around his middle. If he has to comfort Jeff, he’s going to do it right dammit.</p>
<hr/><p>Jeff tries not to think too hard about the fact that he’s currently got Kent wrapped around him like a weighted blanket. Or the fact that he definitely just lied to him because he couldn’t very well just blurt out his feelings after Kent so succinctly sussed him out.</p><p>Not that he hadn’t been thinking about his dad. In vague terms he’s always thinking about his dad and everything else attached. So when he’d been blindsided by Kent and couldn’t come up with anything else that’s what had rolled off of his tongue. Everything that happened afterwards was only proof that maybe he also needed to see a therapist. </p><p>And wouldn’t that be nice? Them both getting therapy and then coming home to each other and curling up on the couch like this. Not worried that Birdie might show up early (although she’d mentioned something about meeting up with Mr. Anderson after volunteering tonight so they were probably in the clear). He can almost imagine that that’s the case when he looks down and sees the golden spill of Kent’s hair pressed against his chest.</p><p>God he’s so gone on him.</p><p>There’s a silence now that falls between them, save for the background noise of some cooking show Kent must’ve put on because he knows Jeff’s fond of them. He hums as he lets himself slip into the idea that this is real and that at the end of this Kent won’t go to leave to head back to his own bed tonight. But if anyone asks, he’s just really into the episode and who’s going to be eliminated next.</p><p>Or at least that’s what he’ll say to save face when Kent startles him for the third time. </p><p>“Hey, you should come to Washington for games five and six,” Kent suggests, mostly muffled by skin.</p><p>Jeff stills before responding. “Work,” he states simply.</p><p>Kent squeezes him around the middle. “Call in sick, request it off, whatever.”</p><p>“Hotel fees and travel costs.”</p><p>Kent raises his head to stare at him incredulously. “I think I’m good for covering that.” Jeff goes to open his mouth, only to be stopped by Kent barreling on. “I just- I think it would be nice if we won the cup that somebody I knew was there to celebrate it with me.”</p><p>Kent looks small in that moment, his eyes haunted by a past memory. Jeff swallows. Technically he recognizes that the Aces could lose before game six but there’s not much he won’t do for Kent at this rate. He adds idiot to the list after the synonyms following coward.</p><p>“Yeah, sure, I’ll be there.”</p>
<hr/><p>The hotel, Jeff thinks, is far too nice for the likes of him. In fact, everything about this trip has been far too nice for the likes of him. It also does absolutely nothing to help the current state of his feelings for Kent. </p><p>The electricity in the air probably isn’t doing any favors for them in that regard either. </p><p>It’s palpable in a way that only serves to wrench his heart out from underneath him. A quick turn of his head and Kent’s there, with an air of seriousness that he’s never been privy to before. He’s seen him in various states over the past few months; distressed, happy, vulnerable, even serious. But never anything like this- this single minded focus that could blaze through a mountain via sheer will alone.</p><p>And Jeff admires that, he really does. He imagines it’s the same level of single-minded determination that made him one of the youngest captains in the NHL. He does not however appreciate the fact that it’s very obviously draining the life out of him. Currently he’s half slumped over in Jeff’s hotel bed, hunched over an iPad, squinting at what Jeff assumes is tape. </p><p>Jeff stares at him forlornly from the edge of the bathroom. Kent had told him to go on without him and that he’d join him shortly but that had been a solid thirty minutes prior. The only movement Jeff can discern that he’s made is slump further down over the device.</p><p>He lets out a long sigh before going to rummage for a pair of sweats to pull on. He dredges up an old sweatshirt from the Q as well, not for him, but for Kent. He tells himself it’s because he knows he could use some comfort, but he’s well aware that he selfishly wants to see Kent wearing his number at least once.</p><p>He sits down on the bed and Kent looks up, spooked by the sudden dip in the mattress.</p><p>“I, uh, sorry?” he asks sheepishly, darting his glances between whatever’s playing on the screen and Jeff.</p><p>Jeff just bites back a soft smile. He hates how endearing he finds the behavior. Wonders if he’d hate it in ten years time. Kind of wishes he could find out how he feels about Kent’s quirks far past the limit of a decade.</p><p>“It’s fine,” he says instead, gesturing for the iPad. There’s not much more Kent can do tonight, tomorrow’s game six. Either they win it all or they go back to Vegas for a harrowing game seven. </p><p>Kent relents reluctantly, handing it over with a harumph. Jeff allows himself to smile at that, gleefully moving the device to the other bedside table that’s just out of Kent’s reach. </p><p>“Here, wear this,” he says when he turns back, presenting the sweatshirt with what he hopes is minimal fanfare. Kent raises an eyebrow at him. Jeff shrugs, “Used to wear it for good luck before games.”</p><p>He does not mention that he was never one of the superstitious types. But Kent buys it and slips into it all too quickly. He swims in it, his pale skin standing out against the black fabric. Jeff can’t help himself, he leans in automatically to kiss Kent. Kent all but melts against him. </p><p>“Sorry we haven’t really fooled around since we’ve gotten here,” Kent says, ducking his head from Jeff’s gaze.</p><p>Jeff feels his face soften at that. He leans in again to kiss his forehead. “Just going to make it that much better when you win the cup.”</p><p>Kent draws in a gasp. “You can’t just say that- you’ll jinx it!”</p><p>It takes everything in Jeff’s willpower not to mention that he’d never been superstitious to begin with. Contradicting himself would do neither of them good. Instead he just leans in to press a kiss to Kent’s nose. </p><p>“You’ll see,” is all he comments.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent, Jeff thinks, is also far too nice a thing for the likes of him. He looks like a God holding the Stanley Cup above his head as the confetti rains down above them. He’s rueful in the realization that he’d always dreamt about being on the ice after a Stanley Cup win. He’d just always factored in him being on the team that had accomplished it.</p><p>Still, it doesn’t take away the hype he feels permeating the entire atmosphere. </p><p>Someone slams into him from behind and he realizes it’s Scraps. He excitedly rattles off something in Russian and Jeff just nods. He finagles his brain to find something to say in response and comes up blank. He throws up a thumbs up instead.</p><p>That seems to placate him because then he’s off like a rocket to go excitedly run his mouth at some poor reporter. Jeff grimaces and sends good thoughts out to whoever has to run PR for the team. He does not want to imagine the fallout that they’re going to have to handle tomorrow.</p><p>Kent skates up, far more elegant in his technique. He’s flush from the game and the victory lap he’s just finished. Jeff only half hates how in love with him he is, because truthfully, there’s no point in denying it anymore at this rate.</p><p>“Guess I’m gonna have to wear that sweatshirt before every game,” Kent chirps, looking not at all abashed by the fact.</p><p>Jeff’s heart constricts somewhere in his chest, followed by it running a marathon. He would very much like that, yes indeed. That’s not what he says though. Instead he just half smiles and replies, “If it’s that good maybe I’ll sell it to the highest bidder.”</p><p>Kent just snorts, “Nah you-”</p><p>Scraps comes back to slam into Kent from behind. Jeff bowls over in laughter in the same instance that Kent goes down. </p><p>“Come! Drink!” he announces, his level of animation juxtaposing his level of seriousness.</p><p>Kent straightens up and gives him a soft shrug that Jeff knows to take as an apology. The glint in his eye though holds a promise, one that Jeff’s looking forward to receiving. </p><p>It’s not until he hits the pavement on his walk back to the hotel from the rink does he realize that now he has no excuse not to tell Kent the true extent of his feelings. He swallows. He’s well and truly fucked.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent stumbles into the hotel room. Jeff looks up lazily from his phone like he wasn’t expecting Kent back so soon. Which, he probably wasn’t. He does not want to think about the massive amounts of alcohol he had to fake consume and how currently five separate groups of guys think that he’s with one of the other groups. He’s exhausted just thinking about it, but he’s also way too high strung currently to actually pass out.</p><p>Also, Jeff’s here and that in itself is electrifying. </p><p>He drops himself onto the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes before crawling the rest of the way up to Jeff. He looks half amused, albeit reserved. Which, Kent doesn’t think he should look like that anymore and takes it upon himself to kiss him desperately. </p><p>He keens into the touch of Jeff holding him by the waist. It’s one of his favorite parts that he consistently looks forward to. He rewards him with a nip at his bottom lip before pushing in, fighting for dominance. He’s already scored twice tonight and is definitely looking forward to completing the hat trick.</p><p>Jeff huffs out softly but goes willingly. </p><p>Eventually he pulls back for air. “How opposed are you to the idea of being tied up?” he asks, because frankly he’s got nothing to lose and everything to win if earlier is something to go by.</p><p>Jeff snorts, “What? Tying you up, or being tied up?”</p><p>Kent throws his head back to laugh, “You’re sure as hell not tying me up- these bad boys are insured.” He does a great show of checking his hands out to make sure they’re still up to par.</p><p>Jeff raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, exactly. They’re insured. Do you know how insurance works?”</p><p>Kent rolls his eyes and leans forward to kiss him. “When I say this, I mean it. Sincerely, shut the fuck up,” he whispers over his lips.</p><p>Jeff’s eyes darken, his hands reaching down to grab hold of Kent’s ass. They grind into each other for a few lazy moments until Jeff leans up to suck into the side of Kent’s neck. Kent shivers when Jeff winds up breathing into his ear, “Sincerely, make me.”</p>
<hr/><p>Jeff has a running tally of things he considers himself now; coward, wimp, idiot, masochist. He can’t deny Kent anything. Not when he looks like that. He fully recognizes that he’s the blind worshipper and Kent’s the deity in this situation. </p><p>But how can he not be?</p><p>His hands are currently bound above his head by the soft fabric of Kent’s game day tie. “The good one,” he’d said grinning like a mad man as he’d unwound it from his neck before leaning in to kiss him some more. He hates that his body had given him away with a hitch of his breath when he’d felt the cool fabric tighten around his wrists.</p><p>Everything still feels like it’s moving in slow motion. </p><p>He’s long since lost his shirt thanks to Kent’s direction. It only makes sense then that Kent’s utilizing every inch of him, licking on the faint outline of his muscles and biting down whenever Jeff tries to get him to move down further. </p><p>“I’m in charge,” he says, his pupils wide when he flicks up to connect his gaze with Jeff’s.</p><p>Jeff just groans and forces his head back against the pillows. Kent’s going to be the death of him he realizes. He feels the rush of cool air as his pants and underwear are slowly dragged off of his frame. But truly, what a way to go.</p><p>Kent’s mouth feels incredible around him, all hot, wet suction. He’s pretty sure he swears, following that with a low broken out moan. Kent pulls off. He whines and bucks up into the air. Kent laughs lowly at that, but keeps him held down by making sure his thighs are trapped under him. </p><p>He shucks off his suit jacket, sending it flying somewhere to the ground. Jeff does not want to know how much that cost, because he has a sinking feeling that it would be more than his half of monthly rent. He doesn’t want to get too emotional tonight but with Kent currently taking his sweet time unbuttoning his dress shirt, it’s a close thing. He presses his hands further down into the bed to try to distract himself.</p><p>“Cute,” Kent quips before leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of Jeff’s dick.</p><p>Jeff is only half embarrassed by how he bucks up into that. It’s just, it’s a lot right now. Kent continues his regiment of undressing himself until he’s just as naked as Jeff is. He shuffles on the bed to try and twist to reach the lube on the nightstand, before giving up and just standing up to go get it.</p><p>When he comes back he starts working himself open, immediately beginning with two fingers. Kent gasps at that and Jeff can’t help the whine that’s ripped from him. God what he wouldn’t do to be the one opening him up, making him feel good. That’s all he wants to do these days it seems, make Kent feel good. </p><p>He closes his eyes and leans back into the cool pillow that’s gone nearly hot around him. If he actually looks at Kent right now he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to stop himself from saying something about how ethereal he looks right now. He bites his lip and listens to the sounds Kent makes instead. The rustle of the sheets on the bed around them, the squelching sound as Kent pushes into himself, the grunts and soft moans he makes on every thrust. On second thought, he’s not entirely sure this is much better.</p><p>He focuses on his breathing instead. Which is probably why when a lube-slick hand surrounds him he’s so taken unawares that he nearly launches off of the bed. There’s a breathy chuckle somewhere distantly from Kent which is entirely unfair since he’s the reason why Jeff’s in this situation to begin with.</p><p>But then Kent’s rolling a condom over him, pouring more lube over said condom before slowly lowering himself onto Jeff. And Jeff can’t find it in himself to be able to breathe, his breath having been so thoroughly punched out of him. His eyes fly open and it doesn’t get better. Kent’s outline is shrouded by the sepia light, but his golden hair acts like a halo. </p><p>Jeff wishes he could reach up and sweep his hands through it. He’s still not sure how Kent is a tangible fixture in his life. He settles for a strangled out, “Kent,” followed by a, “Fuck.” Kent’s grin is feral and when he leans down he doesn’t kiss Jeff, but instead sucks a hickey into the base of his throat. He laughs into the rumble that Jeff makes as he groans. </p><p>“How’s that?” Kent asks, before pushing up slightly and sliding back down. </p><p>Jeff tries his best to glare because he knows that Kent knows how he feels about it. He tries to fuck up into him when Kent’s grin turns shit-eating but Kent just shakes his head. He shoves one of his elbows against Jeff’s midriff and uses that as leverage to fuck himself at a leisurely pace. </p><p>Eventually he must get close because he’s back to leaning down across Jeff. They make out lazily, mostly a mash of teeth and sighs, as Kent grinds down onto him. </p><p>“If my hands were free I could help with that you know,” Jeff chirps glancing down at Kent’s red cock, beading at the tip.</p><p>Kent grins at him through a laugh that comes out on an exhale. Jeff kisses him to drink the response. </p><p>“Would ruin the fun,” he replies easily. </p><p>He reaches down to grab one of Jeff’s nipples and clenches around Jeff on a downstroke. Jeff’s pretty sure he blacks out, at the very least whites out, as he comes. His mind must go blank for a few moments, because the next thing he knows Kent’s come is striping his chest. </p><p>Jeff blinks, looks down and then up. Kent’s chest is mottled from physical exertion, his eyes are brilliant even in the low light. Jeff has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from telling him how he feels, the rush of feelings coursing through him at an all time high. </p><p>He breathes in deeply through his nose before he allows himself to speak. “Well, you gonna clean me up?”</p><p>His heart nearly combusts when Kent beams in response, carefully working on undoing the tie around his wrists. “Yeah, just a sec,” he replies, before sliding off to the side. He handles the condom before padding off to the bathroom.</p><p>Jeff enjoys the view until he remembers what he has to do. He flops back down against the bed, this time rubbing the spot where the tie had been moments before. He wonders if Kent would ever be willing to do this, but with the positions reversed. He pointedly does not wonder if he only wants to follow that line of thought because he wants Kent in a position where he can’t leave. </p><p>He adds possessive to that list of descriptors.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent’s feeling loose, sated and content for the first time in possibly ever. He’d just won the Stanley Cup for the second time and then proceeded to have really good sex afterwards. Way better than the first time when he’d been a shell-shocked captain who’d gotten so drunk that his hangover had lasted multiple days. </p><p>He’ll have to deal with press sometime tomorrow, and they still have to get back to Vegas. But for now? He’s currently wrapped up in Jeff’s arms, the soft blanket from Jeff’s couch that he always comments his love for currently surrounding him as well. So thoughtful of him to pack it, something he’s not really sure Jack would’ve gone out of his way to do.</p><p>Something wriggles at the back of his mind. He hasn’t thought of Jack the entire time since Jeff’s been with him in Washington. He travels further back, feels his brows furrowing. He’s thought of Jack, yes, but if he’s honest with himself, he’s thought less and less of him since Jeff has entered the picture. And when he does, it’s normally in the form of comparing the two. With Jeff coming out on top in both his heart and head more often than not.</p><p>He feels his breath catch in his throat. </p><p>Oh God, he likes Jeff, potentially as more than friends with benefits. Jeff tilts Kent’s head up in worry, cupping his jaw gently. Kent stares into the dark pools of his eyes.</p><p>“You okay?” Jeff asks.</p><p>Scratch that, he definitely likes Jeff as more than friends with benefits.</p><p>He nods his head probably far too quickly. “Just thinking about tomorrow,” he responds, doing his best to placate him with a kiss to the underside of his jaw. The fact that there’s already a beard coming in again does absolutely nothing to stop his gut roiling with heat.</p><p>“Technically today,” Jeff reminds him with a soft kiss to the top of his head. </p><p>His insides immediately cool and turn to mush. Internally he panics some more as he snuggles deeper into Jeff’s side to hide his face. Oh God, he’s going to have to deal with that when he gets back to Vegas- isn’t he?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
<li> light bondage (the section starts with "Jeff has a running tally of things" and ends with "to that list of descriptors") if you want to skip it</li>
  <li>Jeff mentions his fears that he's the reason why his dad died</li>
  <li>Jeff continues to be <i>just</i> friends with benefits and does not tell Kent his real feelings, even though he definitely has them</li>
<li> Mentions of what happened to Jack in regard to his overdose in Kent's thoughts</li>
</ol><p>If you're wondering if I followed VGK's 2018 cup run, just giving the Aces a different outcome, then yes, you'd be correct. I mostly did that because I didn't want to mess up conference match-ups and/or the timing that I needed for my outline. Thank you online databases that house all that information. I'm also now into hockey because of the research I did for this section of the fic, so take that as you will haha.</p><p>Oh, and fun fact- unless editing changes future chapters drastically, this is the longest chapter of the whole fic.</p><p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For whatever reason Scraps wasn't tagged as one of the characters? Anyway, that's been remedied. </p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff gets exactly 24 hours after his trip to Washington before he’s accosted by Birdie. He’s coming back from a double shift that he’d been put on as punishment for requesting so much time off last minute when she calls his name from the kitchen table. He takes a moment to gather himself and pray to a God he doesn’t believe in at his bedroom’s door frame, because he’s well aware that he’s going to need it, before turning back to her.</p>
<p>“Yes?” he asks, trying to find the appropriate walking speed to use to join her. He ends up shuffling over to the table regardless, so it’s likely he still ends up looking guilty.</p>
<p>“How are you?” she asks calmly, methodically placing a bookmark into her paperback novel and setting it down onto the table.</p>
<p>He swallows. “Tired,” he responds trying to keep his voice light, like he’s not emotionally and physically wrung out.</p>
<p>She raises an eyebrow sharply up and presses her lips into a thin line. Jeff sighs, they both know where this is going. No use in trying to fight it any longer. He slips into the chair across from her, choosing to run a hand down his face to center himself. He places it down against his side and looks up. She’s still staring at him unabashedly as if to say <i> well, get on with it</i>.</p>
<p>“So I’ve been seeing someone,” he starts because that’s the crux of the issue. He’s been seeing Kent and Kent apparently needs to see an optometrist because he’s at the very least nearsighted, potentially farsighted, more than likely just fucking blind.</p>
<p>Birdie takes a long sip of her tea before placing it back down gently on the napkin it’d been resting on previously. “I’m aware.”</p>
<p>Which okay, yeah she’d been the one to help him through his original conversation with Kent after the whole kiss in the club fiasco. And he hasn’t been exactly discreet about consistently hanging out with somebody. It wouldn’t take a particularly high IQ to put two and two together like that. It’s just, it’s somewhere to begin and since he’s not even sure where it truly begins, it’ll have to do.</p>
<p>“You’re not exactly quiet,” she continues.</p>
<p>And- oh, yeah that’d do it too. He immediately feels his face heat up. Maybe he should’ve kept Kent further separated from his life. His stomach sinks at that and he doesn’t like the sudden burst of nausea that rocks through him.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he mumbles, because he’s not entirely sure where else to go with it.</p>
<p>Birdie snorts, “No you’re not, but that’s not what I have a problem with anyway. My problem is that I still haven’t met this young man that you’re so very obviously besotted with.”</p>
<p>Jeff swallows, feels his hands go clammy as he grips the sides of his work slacks. The material does nothing to help the perspiration and he’s left feeling uncomfortable in more ways than one.</p>
<p>“Uh, we’re not dating?” he replies, knowing full well that the high pitched note he ends on sounds more like a question than anything.</p>
<p>Birdie’s silent for a beat before she regains her bearings. “But you are something,” it’s not a question, just a statement filled with far too much truth.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he responds, dragging out the syllable. He doesn’t want to explain in exact terms what they are. Mainly because it’s embarrassing but also because the lack of a <i>real</i> relationship hurts. </p>
<p>“And you want to be more than this something that you are currently.” Also not a question. This is why he doesn’t bring Kent around her, she’ll flay the both of them alive with her scrutiny and while he’s accustomed to it, he’s not entirely sure how well Kent would hold up.</p>
<p>He sighs and drops his gaze to the wooden grain of the table, but nods in affirmative regardless. </p>
<p>“Well then tell him!” she exclaims like she’s cracked the secret code.</p>
<p>He should, deep down he knows that he really should just tell him. Between his feelings and him wanting to recommend a therapist, he constantly feels on edge. Like he’s going to slip up and one wrong thing is going to send even their relationship as friends with benefits spiraling. </p>
<p>But if he’s really honest with himself, he’s just terrified of losing Kent in any capacity. He’d break his own heart and his own rule to stay friends with Kent if they ended up ending things. He’s just not sure that Kent would feel the same way. And even the thought of Kent cutting him out entirely feels like an open knife wound. </p>
<p>“I was thinking of easing him into the idea of dating,” he says instead. Because unpacking everything that’s happened up to now feels far too personal. And also he’s already wrung out as it is, he’s not entirely sure he could handle the emotional toll it would take on him to serve it up like a charcuterie board and have Birdie dissect it for imperfections.</p>
<p>Birdie’s face morphs into disbelief. “That’s a terrible idea and you know it.”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s what I’ve got, so.”</p>
<p>She pinches the bridge of her nose, “Please for the love of God just talk to him.”</p>
<p>He stares at her, she stares back. The silence is terse between them, a moment that drags on far too long. Jeff stands up first, pushing the chair back from the table with more force than necessary. </p>
<p>“It’s complicated,” he grits out before turning to head back to his room.</p>
<p>“You should still talk to him,” she calls after him.</p>
<p>He doesn’t respond.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent gives himself a week after the win to put off panicking. Not that he has the mental capacity to actually give his feelings the full attention they deserve even after that week, but still, he puts his feelings on the backburner for that entire time. </p>
<p>When all is said and done however, he finds himself bowled over on his kitchen floor, clutching a can of soup. The fact that he desperately wishes Jeff were here helping absolutely nothing. When his breathing finally evens out and the tears are mostly blinked away, all he can do is flop onto the cool ground. </p>
<p>Yeah, he needs to tell Jeff. It’s not cool that he’s leading Jeff on by continuing the whole friends with benefits gig when he wishes they were more. But Jeff, Jeff deserves better than him. And Kent hates that that’s true. </p>
<p>He rolls onto his side, the cool tile pressing into his face, the metal of the soup can pressing indentations into his fingers. He’s going to have to ease Jeff into the idea of dating. Maybe bring him to one of those fancy restaurants that respects his privacy as an introduction to the life of dating a closeted NHL player. Remind him that while he can’t put him on display like Jeff deserves, he can still wine and dine him. </p>
<p>He breathes out slowly. First soup, and then the rest will follow.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent tries to count to ten when he holds his breath, and then follows that by trying to count to ten when he blows his breath out. But then counting makes him think of counting cards, which makes him think of Jeff, which reminds him that this is a trial run for a date that Jeff isn’t aware of and Jeff’s not here yet (not that he’s late- Kent’s just early, but still). </p>
<p>He clenches his fist tighter around the stem of his water glass. The condensation brings him back to reality. Right, he’s spiraling. He needs to just not think for a second so that way he can enjoy this almost date with Jeff. He flushes at the thought and downs his entire water glass in one go.</p>
<p>“Thirsty?” a voice off to his side asks.</p>
<p>He glances back to see Jeff walking up from behind him. He places his hand against Kent’s shoulder and squeezes it before continuing forward to slide into the chair across from him. Kent feels his stomach swoop and his heart rate speed up as Jeff sends a smile his way before picking up the menu.</p>
<p>He hates how desperate it makes him seem but all he wants right now is to lunge across the table and grab Jeff’s hand. Partially out of need for his own comfort and partially because he wants to quell any potential discomfort Jeff might have. </p>
<p>He scrutinizes him in the low light, noticing the way his shoulders hunch forward as he skims the prices. When he flips the page he starts to bite at his lower lip and Kent really can’t have that. Because if he keeps up with that then Kent’s going to remember all the other times he’s seen him with swollen lips and how he’d very much like to have a repeat of all those times. And he can’t have that tonight because tonight’s about proving that they can be good together without sex and if he can pull that off then he can prove that they can definitely be more than just friends with benefits.</p>
<p>He knocks one of his legs against one of Jeff’s. “Hey, it’s all good, I’m buying.”</p>
<p>Jeff looks up at him, his face takes on a hue of red. “I uh-” he starts.</p>
<p>“I just won the Stanley Cup,” he reminds him, “I think I’m good for it.”</p>
<p>Jeff’s face does something weird at that, but it quickly smooths out as he nods. </p>
<p>The waitress comes not long after to save them from themselves. Kent tries not to deflate when he notices that Jeff chooses to order one of the cheaper items on the menu. He also doesn’t take the bait when the waitress asks if he wants something alcoholic, instead requesting an iced tea. He does however thank the waitress when she comes back to refill their waters. Kent feels his heart flutter at that.</p>
<p>A tenuous silence fills between them. </p>
<p>“So, how have you been?” Kent asks, trying to make his voice even and smooth so that it doesn’t feel too forced.</p>
<p>Jeff peers at him from across the table. “Busy, work’s been giving me doubles since I took that week off, but otherwise fine.” He ends his last word on a higher octave than the rest, almost like he doesn’t really believe it himself. Kent’s not about to call it out though.</p>
<p>He does however grimace at that knowledge. “Uh, sorry for that,” he says, mostly staring into his water and wishing he had something to stir into it so that his hands could have something to do.</p>
<p>Jeff shrugs, “It’s not like you made the schedule,” he trails off for a moment, “Besides I had fun.”</p>
<p>Kent glances back up at him and can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. It’s stupid to be so happy that somebody wanted to spend time with him but here he is and that’s how he feels. </p>
<p>“Really?” he asks before he can stop himself.</p>
<p>Jeff’s hand squeezes his knee underneath the table. “Yeah,” he answers, his gaze having gone soft and his smile reaching his eyes. Kent feels his heart palpitations increase but it takes everything in him not to swoon. </p>
<p>“Well I had fun too,” he replies in turn.</p>
<p>Jeff laughs at that and warmth floods through Kent at the realization that he caused that. “Seeing as how game six ended, I certainly hope so.”</p>
<p>Kent flushes deeper at that. He thinks back to the mess he’d made trying to get out of the arena and back to Jeff. Scraps still doesn’t believe him and regards his explanation about how he’d gotten separated from the guys and in the end just left to go sleep it off instead of trying to reconnect with deep skepticism. Unverbalized skepticism, but still. At least the resulting sex had been fantastic.</p>
<p>But that’s not what tonight’s about. Tonight’s about proving that they can maybe do this date thing. And this date thing needs to include them having real conversations and no sex because he’s pretty sure he’s read somewhere that you’re not supposed to put out on the first date.</p>
<p>He shakes his head before reaching his hand down to grab Jeff’s leg and squeeze it. “I’m just glad you were there,” he says honestly.</p>
<p>Jeff flushes even darker and Kent considers that a win. Jeff downs part of his iced tea in what looks like an effort to regain his bearings and Kent just stares openly at his throat. He’s sucked a hickey there before, he realizes and feels his face go hot at that. </p>
<p>Jeff clears his throat after he sets his drink down. “Uh, how’d you even manage to get back to the hotel so quickly that night?”</p>
<p>Which, it’s a fair question. And if anything he’s a little proud of the charade he managed to pull off. He feels a smirk settle across his features. “So, it started in the locker room.”</p><hr/>
<p>Jeff’s curled up around Kent, a hand laying on his chest, allowing him to feel the rise and fall of Kent’s breathing. He tries to calm the whirring of his mind as he recounts everything that had happened earlier at the restaurant. </p>
<p>He likes to count it as a date, although he’s pretty sure that Kent had just been trying to thank him for dropping everything and joining him in Washington. Besides it’d been far too expensive for his budget, to the point that he hadn’t even argued when the bill had come.</p>
<p>They’d been awkward at first, but he figures that that’s probably par for the course on any first date. He can still work with trying to convince Kent that they’d be good together in that capacity. Especially because after Kent launched into his tale of evading his team, fans, and the press, something easy had settled between them. </p>
<p>He smiles as he thinks about the rest of the evening. How they’d held hands in the car and how blotchy Kent’s skin had gone when Jeff had pressed a kiss against his wrist. How their easy banter had quickly resumed and they’d spent half the night on the couch trying not to fall off as they laughed so hard their sides hurt. Which then eventually turned into them lazily making out until they both had a hard time keeping their eyes open.</p>
<p>And now they’re here.</p>
<p>Jeff presses a kiss against the back of Kent’s neck and inhales the scent of his shampoo. Kent snuggles back into his touch and presses a kiss against Jeff’s arm that he’s currently using as a pillow. Jeff feels his heart expand in his chest and a warmth washes over him. He’s so close to what he wants, he just needs to come up with a date idea of his own to prove to Kent that he can hold his own even without the ability to splurge on upscale restaurants. </p>
<p>He’ll worry about that tomorrow he decides before pressing another kiss against the back of Kent’s neck, just savoring the feeling of being close to him. Right now he has this. And this? This is good.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li> Kent almost spirals, but uses breathing to calm himself down </li>
<li> Heavy use of miscommunication since neither want to talk apparently</li>
</ol>
<p>Imagine how much shorter this fic'd be if they just TALKED.</p>
<p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me? Posting this at 1 am because it's technically Sunday? Yeah.</p><p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not good. Not anymore. Jeff stares down his last customer of the day, since they’re closing in a literal minute, and tries not to have a panic attack because he knows Daniel will take that as a sign of weakness and use that against him.</p><p>“Can I get you anything to drink?” he manages to grit out, gripping the countertop like a lifeline.</p><p>“Nah, I’m good,” Daniel replies breezily.</p><p>“Then what exactly are you doing here?” he all but hisses.</p><p>“Can’t a cousin want to drop in and check on their relatives?”</p><p>Jeff snorts, “We were never close.” <i>And you blew whatever chance of being close we had when you threatened to out me</i>, he thinks to himself.</p><p>“Ah, but what if I wanted to be?” Daniel asks, dragging his finger along the edge of the counter and bringing it up to his eyes as if to inspect for dirt. There’s none, Jeff knows this, he’d just wiped it down moments previous. Daniel likely saw him do it. It doesn’t stop his heart from beating a little too quickly in his chest.</p><p>“Well I don’t, so,” he gestures towards the door.</p><p>“And what if I said I was here on business?” he continues, ignoring Jeff in the meantime.</p><p>“You’re based out of Canada, and three time zones away from here, you and I both know that’s a lie,” Jeff bites out. At least, he’s pretty sure he would’ve heard if a real estate company from East Canada had decided to expand to Vegas.</p><p>He pointedly ignores the look Daniel gives him, because yes he did purposely choose somewhere far away and with minimal rain on purpose. The fact that he had an in at finding work here only making his tumultuous decision to move easier.</p><p>“And what if I said it wasn’t <i>business</i> business?”</p><p>“Well, then I’d ask you to leave because I don’t particularly care what business you’re involved in, I want no part of it.”</p><p>“And if I said it was family business?”</p><p>“I’d call mom.”</p><p>“Ah, but you see you never call your mother.”</p><p>“Doesn’t mean I can’t right now.”</p><p>“And if I said this was about seeing you on ice after the Stanley Cup finals?”</p><p>Jeff stills and tries to focus on his breathing to not pass out as blood rushes in his ears. He grips the counter harder as he tries to recall what happened on the ice. Logically he recognizes that it hadn’t happened that long ago but right now he can’t remember if he’d done anything that might potentially incriminate Kent. Mentally he curses himself. This is exactly why he shouldn’t have gotten that close to Kent, now there’s a potential to cause harm by accidentally outing him to his shitbag of a cousin.</p><p>Jeff hardens his gaze and stands up taller. At the very least he needs to protect Kent from Daniel, he can’t risk both of their careers going to shit. He needs to do some kind of damage control.</p><p>“Then I’d ask what kind of coffee you’d like to drink before we begin that discussion.”</p><p>A manic grin slices across Daniel’s features, “A caramel frappé will do.”</p><p>Jeff nods tersely before turning back to the machines surrounding him. He breathes in deeply to settle himself. He needs to both create this coffee and a story to keep Kent from the wolves.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent slouches down against the brick in the alleyway roughly a block away from the coffee shop Jeff works at. He forces his hat down lower over his head and tries to do something on his phone to steady his hands. He really does not want to get caught crying by someone who’ll likely sell the pics. And then after that it’s only a matter of time before some news outlet like deadspin picks it up and then he’ll have to do some PR stunt to try to convince everyone that he’s not into drugs because he can’t come right out and say he’s crying over his friends with benefits situation. </p><p>He chokes out a laugh, that comes out more like a sob than anything. Even to himself that sounds pathetic. And he knows it’s stupid. He recognizes that he doesn’t exactly have a claim to Jeff, even with the fancy dinner not-date. Their only parameters when they’d started this whole arrangement had been that Jeff signed an NDA and they were going to fuck. It wasn’t a true romantic relationship in any sense of the word. </p><p>It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to see him with someone else though.</p><p>Technically Jeff had told him he’d let him know when he was out of work. But Kent knew the hours well enough by now and had just wanted to spend time with him as he closed up. Maybe recreate that blowjob in the back office again, but this time with Kent doing the blowing. </p><p>Instead he’d almost stumbled upon what was likely a date with how animated Jeff had been talking. He only felt slightly miffed by the fact that apparently using the coffee shop as a meeting spot wasn’t reserved for Kent specifically. (He knows he’s being ridiculous but he’s also feeling a little shitty right now so he has to force his anger onto something.)</p><p>He purposely does not think about how the guy sitting across from Jeff had dark brown hair and how that’s probably what Jeff’s actually into. And that while it’d been fun with Kent, Jeff’s probably not super in blonds. And that likely he’d just felt bad for spilling his drink on Kent originally and it all kind of spiraled from there. (He definitely does think about this, he just really wishes he wouldn’t.)</p><p>He refuses to even open the vault on wondering how long this has been going on for. Feels his throat constrict at the thought that Jeff’s been halfway out the door this entire time as he’s been falling harder for him. </p><p>He doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing.</p><p>He almost misses his phone buzzing in his hand. It’s just a message from Jeff letting him know he’s almost done and that Kent can head out. He almost cancels with a claim that he’s come down with something just to get out of it. But then Jeff might show up at his house with soup or something and he’d be found out pretty quickly. </p><p>Maybe he could’ve saved his heart if Jeff wasn’t so fucking thoughtful all the god damn time. He turns to kick angrily at the brick wall behind him. It doesn’t help, he just ends up hurting his toe instead. </p><p>He bites his lip and tries to ignore the tears welling in his eyes. Thrusting his face into the sleeve of his hoodie, (luckily not one of Jeff’s, God- how embarrassing would that be?), he uses it to wipe at his eyes and nose. He hopes he doesn’t look too red-rimmed around his eyes and starts making the trek the rest of the way to the coffee shop.</p><p>He’s repressed his emotions before, he can do it again.</p>
<hr/><p>Jeff’s waiting for him with a coffee. Which isn’t necessarily a first, but it’s also not something he’s super accustomed to. Kent takes it for what it is, a guilty offering to help assuage Jeff’s mind. </p><p>He almost wishes he’d been correct in his original assessment of Jeff being too good a person for him. The fact that that’s not the case just means that Kent is on his level and he wouldn’t feel nearly as bad about himself if they were dating. The fact that he only learned that because Jeff’s moving on feels like a sucker punch to his throat.</p><p>He takes a sip of the coffee before setting it back down on the same table he’d seen Jeff and the other brunet at earlier. He sighs, because of course it tastes good. He doesn’t know what to say however, so instead he just peers up at Jeff and tries not to betray himself by blurting out his feelings.</p><p>Jeff at least looks as nervous as he feels so he takes that for what it’s worth.</p><p>“I think,” Jeff pauses, “I think we should stop the friends with benefits arrangement.”</p><p>Kent stares blankly up at him. He’d known it was coming, but that still doesn’t stop the ice forming in his veins, or how hot his face gets as he tries not to cry, yet again. Maybe a week ago he would’ve let himself believe that Jeff was trying to ask him to be more than just friends with benefits in a weird, convoluted, round-about manner. But he knows what he saw and he’s already feeling beyond physically wrung out, so he just lets the awkward wording go.</p><p>“Okay,” he says instead, entirely exhausted and in general just over today. </p><p>Jeff stares at him forlornly in return. </p><p>Kent steels his gaze before marching forward in determination. He grabs a hold of Jeff’s left arm with both of his hands. He leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. “It was fun while it lasted,” he murmurs between the two of them before stepping back down on his heels. </p><p>Jeff makes a wounded noise and Kent turns. They both made their bed and they’ll both have to lie on it, just not together, he supposes. He debates knocking over the coffee on the way out, but in the end thinks better of it.</p><p>He manages to make it all the way to his car with only various degrees of sniffles and what he hopes are minimal glances in his direction. When he eventually slides into the driver’s side and locks the surrounding doors he allows himself to finally cry. He desperately wishes he could wail, but he’s terrified of someone hearing him and then seeing him when they go to look for the source of said noise, so he tries to keep it down as best he can.</p><p>And to think he had almost given up on Jack for him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
<li>The person that threatened to out Jeff years ago comes back and obliquely threatens to out someone near to Jeff</li>
<li> Jeff almost has a panic attack over said person showing up again </li>
<li>Severe miscommunication</li>
</ol><p>For anyone worried that this wasn't slow-burnish, I promised that there was a reason for that tag. And well, welcome to what I consider the plot twist. Oh, also sorry- this definitely hurt me to write. </p><p>Anyway, this felt appropriate to post the Sunday before my finals week. </p><p>But if anybody wants to scream at me feel free to leave a comment or dm me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Uh, just as a forewarning a lot happens in this chapter so if you have any potential triggers that are listed in the tags- maybe check the end notes to be safe.</p><p>On a separate note- I know I left you all with that awful chapter this past Sunday, but imagine being one of the early readers. I wrote 11 &amp; 12 in one day, sent them out and then didn't write for 2 weeks because classes had started. </p><p>Finally, this chapter has a flashback and I guess a flashforward? By flashforward I just mean time has progressed since the end of chapter 12. The sections tell you the month and year the scenes take place in, but I figured I'd warn you all regardless.</p><p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b> May 2007 </b>
</p><p>Jeff’s feeling loose with the weight of winning the game earlier and the buzz of alcohol that’s since settled over him. He even has the potential to get laid tonight if his intel is correct, thus adding a low thrum of arousal to the concoction. </p><p>Which sounds way more scandalous than it actually is. </p><p>Simon’s here and Simon’s boyfriend recently broke up with him and Jeff and Simon used to hook up at parties before Simon wanted a real relationship with somebody not in the closet. Which, fair. And Jeff had definitely felt bad for the guy when he and his boyfriend had broken up but also some part of him had distantly recognized that meant they could go back to regular scheduled hookups in darkened corners and locked guest rooms and he’d be lying if he wasn’t at least a little ecstatic. </p><p>As it is, Simon’s currently smirking at him over the head of a blonde who’s definitely barking up the wrong tree. He nods at something she says before exiting the conversation, passing by Jeff and knocking their shoulders together. Oh yeah, Jeff’s definitely getting laid tonight.</p>
<hr/><p>When he stumbles out of the bedroom shortly after he stumbles in (he’s a teenager, so sue him if he gets off quick), he all but runs smack dab into someone. He glances up sheepishly, waving off Simon who follows behind him. He lets out a sigh of relief when he notices it’s one of his cousins. </p><p>He hadn’t realized that Daniel was going to be at the party tonight, but then again it wasn’t like he really kept tabs on his extended family. He has his immediate family to worry about, then hockey, then school. (Sometimes the order is mixed up but in general that’s how his priorities rank). </p><p>Daniel lets out a groan from being stumbled into before he regains his balance. A smile quickly unfurls across his features, “Oh good, I was looking for you.”</p><p>“Hey,” Jeff says, “want me to wingman you?” he asks. He’s feeling generous now that he’s gotten at least one orgasm out of the night, with the potential for more if he’d read the way Simon had whispered “come get me later” correctly. His teammates tell him he’s a great wingman and because they’re just that horny they never think to question why he’s not trying to hook up with girls. He gets the girls off of his back, his friends get laid, and he gets to be left alone to get laid by one of his usual hookups.</p><p>Truly a win for everyone involved.</p><p>Daniel snorts causing Jeff to quirk his head to the side at. A little rude but if Daniel didn’t want to hook up, that’s all he had to say. It’s not like he’s going to particularly care either which way. But if Daniel doesn’t want him to wingman he’s not entirely sure why Daniel had been looking for him in the first place then.</p><p>“So you’re gay then?” Daniel sneers.</p><p>Jeff just shrugs, it’s not like it’s a particularly large secret. Sure maybe he doesn’t go out of his way to display it because <i>hockey</i>. But also it’s <i>hockey</i> so they’re mostly oblivious regardless, more prone to believe other players who come off as <i>too</i> good of friends are hooking up because they play well on a line together than any rumors about him hooking up with guys at parties. Which, there’s probably a layer of jealousy there, but still, entrenched stereotypes are hell of an illusion to hide behind. </p><p>And granted, it’s not like he’s out to his parents either, which is partially why Simon had originally stopped hooking up with him at parties since he’d wanted a "real" relationship. But it’s also not like he has particular trouble picking up. There’s Simon that always shows up to parties at this house, and Andrew that always shows up at the Anderson’s, and Matthew at the Litinsky’s, and so on and so forth. </p><p>And yeah, maybe he should be more careful with exactly how many people he hooks up with but it’s not like anyone has any incriminating evidence. It’d be their word against his and hockey players happen to be notoriously dense. He also does most of his thinking with his dick, not that he’s particularly proud of that, but still. It’s probably something to keep in mind, but that’s something future him can worry about. Regardless, he’s not really sure why Daniel cares.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to the NHL soon?”</p><p>Jeff shrugs again. He’s going to the draft. Who knows if he’ll even be picked up, and even if he is, there’s no guarantee that he won’t be sent down to the farm team indefinitely. Not that he really expects Daniel to get it, it’s not like he’s ever really shown an interest in hockey before. Jeff doubts he has the innate understanding that comes with living it for the majority of one’s life.</p><p>“And there aren’t any gay hockey players, right?”</p><p>Jeff snorts at that. He’s gay and also a hockey player. It’s not like that’s ever hindered him before. Besides, just because people aren’t out doesn’t mean that there aren’t any. Hockey players are notoriously dense, yes, but mostly that’s just because they’re so engrossed in their bro-like culture that they can’t really see beyond their noses to notice what’s right in front of them.</p><p>“None out currently,” he decides to settle on.</p><p>“Which would make you the first, correct?” Daniel plows forward, an unsettling gleam in his eyes.</p><p>“I mean, it’s not like I plan on broadcasting it to the league. But theoretically I could be, yes.”</p><p>“And what would you do if I outed you?” there’s a hard edge to Daniel’s tone that Jeff hadn’t realized he’d been capable of.</p><p>Jeff stares dumbfounded for a split second before shaking his head. “Deny it?” he responds, more question than anything. “I mean, it’s just your word against mine,” he points out.</p><p>Daniel’s hand ducks into his pants pockets and produces a cellphone. He fiddles with it for a few moments before finally finding whatever he’s looking for. He forces it around and shoves it in Jeff’s face. Jeff forces his head back slightly to get a better look at the small screen and squints until the image comes together. It’s a rather incriminating image of him with a dick in his mouth. It's also a testament to how many people he’s hooked up with and how often he parties because he has no idea who’s dick is in his mouth or what party the picture was taken at. He was definitely blackout drunk when it was taken  because he’d definitely remember that photo being taken otherwise.</p><p>He continues to stare dumbly, until his throat’s thick with emotion and he can only manage to choke out, “How?”</p><p>“Does it matter?” Daniel scoffs.</p><p>And no, Jeff supposes, it probably doesn’t matter how Daniel got it. Or however many people have this image. He’s fucked six ways to Sunday regardless.</p><p>“What do you want?” he manages to grit out, pushing the phone back down towards Daniel.</p><p>“Well,” he begins before rambling on about percentage cuts of Jeff’s ELC. Which, Jeff’s not even sure he’s going to end up getting at this rate.  Not when he’s not even entirely he will be drafted (people tell him he will but still, at the very least he’s not going in the first round- that’s for sure). And definitely not now when he’d be the first out player. </p><p>He stumbles past Daniel, somehow both unable to breathe and nauseous at the same time. Fuck, he needs to get out of here. The warmth of the party encroaches further in on him as he keeps running into people. </p><p>Simon grabs his arm, “Are you okay?” he asks.</p><p>Jeff just nods in a yes motion before wrenching his arm out of his grip. He’s not, but he’s also not about to spill why he’s not okay to his hookup, so, lying it is. He loses Simon after that, finally stumbling out into the cool night. He hyperventilates against the front of the house, and falls to his knees as he tries to catch his breath. </p><p>Eventually he comes to, his knees soaked through and likely stained by the front lawn. Music still emanates from inside the house out towards him and he begins to fumble for his own cell phone. He needs to get away from here. He calls his dad.</p>
<hr/><p>The on again, off again rain that’s been making itself known at random intervals throughout the day starts up again while he waits under the eaves that extend off the porch. He shivers, but continues to wait, just grateful that Daniel hasn’t bothered to come looking for him out here. He sucks in a breath that’s more wheeze than not.</p><p>He slides into the passenger seat when his dad finally shows up. His dad glances over and offers an easy smile but doesn’t say anything. Jeff’s always admired the quiet way he’s able to put people at ease. In the moment he sinks into the serene silence that falls between them. </p><p>The rain falls in thick, heavy droplets that run in rivulets down the windshield. Jeff follows them one at a time, watching until they disappear. He’s always liked rainy days and how centering they can be. He draws in another deep breath to steady himself, because truly, what else could go wrong? The last half hour of his life has already sucked so much out of him as is.</p><p>They’re at an intersection when the words finally come to him.</p><p>“Hey, dad,” he begins cautiously, bathed in the red glow from the stop light.</p><p>“Yes?” his dad rumbles out in a low tone.</p><p>“I need to tell you something,” Jeff continues, hating how needy he sounds as his tone pitches higher than normal.</p><p>His dad nods thoughtfully. The light turns green. Jeff doesn’t get to tell him anything, the only conversation left to be had is the sick crunch of metal on metal as another car flies into the driver’s side.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>July 2014</b>
</p><p>Kent stares at the bowl of fake lemons in his kitchen. He is somehow simultaneously too drunk and not drunk enough. It’s his birthday and also his cup day and later there will be fireworks because hell yeah it’s also America’s birthday but he just feels numb. </p><p><i>Jeff should be here</i>, he thinks stubbornly. If all had gone to plan they might’ve even been dating for real at this point. Maybe not out to his team, but they could’ve at least gotten handsy behind closed doors. He could’ve had birthday sex for Christ’s sake. Not that that’s a particularly pressing issue, it just would’ve been nice is all. Still, he refuses to cry even as he feels tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes. </p><p>That decides it, he definitely needs more alcohol.</p><p>Scraps finds him scouring for something fruity in the fridge. “Parse!” he booms, over exuberant, as he comes up to hug him from behind.</p><p>Kent finds himself instantly sagging in relief. He hadn’t realized just how reliant he’d become on his tactility with Jeff until he’d had to cut himself off cold turkey. It’d been lonely recently, not even the few PR stunts he’d already had lined up doing much for him. </p><p>Kent finally finds a Smirnoff somewhere in the back and turns back around, shutting the fridge door with one of his elbows. He glances down, notices that it’s some orange flavor and sighs. It’s not his favorite, but it’ll do in helping him continue to get drunk. He glances back up and notices that Scraps has since moved positions while still managing to keep his hands clasped around Kent’s arms. He searches for something in Kent’s face and must not find it because the next words out of his mouth are, “You not okay?”</p><p>And yes, Kent is so far beyond being okay. But it’s his birthday, the Stanley Cup’s here at his house, as is half the team. He has to be okay. He just plasters on his best attempt at a media smile in response and replies, “Nah, I’m the best.” He pauses, “We’re Stanley Cup champions!” he crows while slipping out of Scraps’ grip only to throw his arm as best he can around Scraps’ shoulder.</p><p>Scraps is very obviously not convinced. He untangles himself causing Kent to stumble forward and right back into him. “Have not seen Jeff,” he accuses, with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>Kent shrugs, glancing downward because he can’t handle the level of scrutiny Scraps is looking at him with. While he definitely needs more to drink, he is also way too drunk for that conversation currently. “Family stuff,” he says dismissively as he waves his hand like it’s no big deal. It’s as good a lie as any and a hell of a lot easier to say than the truth. Which was that Kent had fallen for his fuck buddy and Jeff just hadn’t returned those feelings.</p><p>Kent ducks under one of Scraps’ arms and wobbles his way toward the hallway. “What are we?” he yells through the house in an attempt to lose himself amongst the rest of his team.</p><p>“Stanley Cup champions!” various voices chorus both inside and out of his house.</p><p>“Hell yeah!” he responds in kind, purposely ignoring the hardened gaze of Scraps that he can feel follow him until he turns a corner. He inhales a deep breath when he does, grateful to finally be out of the line of fire. </p><p>He won’t let his stupid feelings for Jeff ruin this moment for him, he won’t.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
<li>Threats of being outed</li>
<li>Threat of blackmail</li>
<li>Reference to unsafe sex</li>
<li>Images of sexual acts having been taken without consent</li>
<li>Panic Attack</li>
<li>Light detail of a car crash</li>
<li>Unhealthy use of alcohol used as a coping mechanism</li>
</ol><p>God, I was fucked up writing this chapter ngl</p><p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff knows he’s not moping, but that’s only because he’s well aware he’s way past that tipping point. He physically aches with the absence of Kent while he simultaneously moves through his daily motions in a detached daze. Even the fact that he’d done it to protect Kent doesn’t really help him feel better. </p>
<p>He had tried to console himself with the reminder that Kent had only wanted friends with benefits. And that truthfully he had probably done Kent a favor by dipping early before dumping unwanted emotions onto him and embarrassing the both of them. It doesn’t really work. He just hates Daniel more. </p>
<p>Daniel stays for a whole week, crashing at a cheap motel on the outskirts of the strip trying to catch Jeff in a lie. But Jeff had been thorough in his tale about befriending Scraps through a class in learning Russian, or at least thorough enough to fool Daniel. If he fudged timelines to make it seem like Scraps would’ve actually had time to be involved in a class like that, well, he didn’t really give a shit. He was going to use every advantage he had over the asshole. </p>
<p>Why had he been in the class to begin with? Easy, he had followed a cute customer there, the customer had ended up dropping the class, but he had enjoyed the language regardless, had stayed and ended up befriending Scraps. </p>
<p>Where was Scraps now? In Russia of course. No matter the fact that he knew that Scraps had been planning on staying until at least the fourth for Kent’s birthday and cup day. (Why yes he did wince every time he thought about how excited Kent had gotten about throwing that party and how he had wanted Jeff to make some of the food). But luckily Scraps doesn't really understand instagram so there wasn’t too much of a chance of him contradicting Jeff’s story. </p>
<p>And can Jeff actually speak Russian? (The answer is no, not really, but he had tried to anyway because the smile that lit up Kent’s face as he bumbled through the pronunciation of the words had always been worth it). Luckily Daniel had never even bothered to learn French, so it wasn’t like Jeff was particularly concerned he would be able to tell the difference between a full sentence and random words. So, in the end what Daniel gets is a string of words, botched accent included, because frankly, he doesn’t deserve anything better. </p>
<p>When the bastard finally leaves, Jeff breathes a sigh of relief, goes about his day in a trance, comes home and sobs into his pillow. He desperately wishes he could text Kent and tell him everything, but in a fit of preservation had purged any trace of him from his phone. He trusts Daniel about as far as he can throw him, which after the accident, probably isn’t actually that far. It’s also probably for the best seeing as Daniel knew where he lived and worked now, meaning he could turn up at any given moment and in turn potentially out Kent.</p>
<p>He refuses to risk that.</p>
<p>He rolls into the next day, drowning in the listless energy that’s followed him since Kent had told him it’d been fun. He hadn’t changed out of his work uniform from yesterday even though today’s one of his increasingly rare days off. He sits on the sofa, leaning against the arm that he wasn’t fucked against, and stares at what’s on tv, not absorbing any of it. </p>
<p>He barely registers when Birdie comes to stand in the way of the screen. He blinks slowly as her silhouette becomes clearer. He tips his head back in a languid motion to meet her eyes. “Yes?” he asks.</p>
<p>“When was the last time you ate?” she asks, tone harsh, hands balled up and placed on her hips in an attempt at menacing.</p>
<p>He cocks his head to the side. He’s not entirely sure if he’s being honest with himself. He thinks it might have been getting lunch with Daniel, but he’s been trying to put that whole mess behind him so he’s already been diligently working on forgetting. He settles for a shrug and tries to turn his gaze back to the tv, doing his best to peer around her figure. He’s not really hungry.</p>
<p>A hand comes up to grip his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I asked when you had last eaten,” is the clipped inflection aimed at him.</p>
<p>He swallows, his throat already excessively dry, causing his voice to scratch on its way out, “Lunch, yesterday.”</p>
<p>She raises an eyebrow in disbelief.</p>
<p>“Probably,” he amends.</p>
<p>“Probably?” she asks incredulously.</p>
<p>“I mean, I think I had lunch with Daniel before he left for the airport.”</p>
<p>She drops her hand from his chin and instead brings it up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Kid, when I say this, I mean it kindly. Dump him, he’s obviously hurting you and the whole easing him into dating thing is obviously not working out.”</p>
<p>Jeff laughs before he can stop himself, even if it comes out more strangled than anything. “That was my cousin,” he manages to bite out.</p>
<p>Birdie drops her hand to stare at him curiously, silenting urging him to continue.</p>
<p>“I already dumped,” he throws up air quotes for good measure around the word, “my fuck buddy.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet for longer than a beat, “Oh Jeff,” she says in a rush, dragging him into a hug, “do you want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>“Nope,” he pops the p, trying to wrangle himself out of her hold.</p>
<p>“Not even if I make you a pb&amp;j just the way you like?”</p>
<p>His stomach makes the decision for him, grumbling even though he only feels distantly hungry. The gleam in her eye is what does him in, in the end. He’s never been good with letting her worry.</p>
<p>He pushes himself off the couch. “It’s a long story,” is how he begins.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent doesn’t remember the rest of the party. He works his way up to blackout, something he’s not exactly proud of, but it gets him through the night. He wakes up grateful that he’d had the forethought to make sure his phone had been dead ahead of time so he couldn’t do something dumb like text Jeff. (Obviously he’s deleted Jeff’s number, he just hasn’t gotten around to deleting the text threads because apparently he’s a masochist and still completely gone on Jeff if the way he finds himself staring at his messages is anything to go off of).</p>
<p>Scraps is the only one not hungover in the morning. Kent tries to half-heartedly glare at him because it’s entirely unfair that his Russian genes come in clutch during situations like this. But he quickly gives up the ruse when mostly edible eggs and too crispy, but not burned, bacon are both placed in front of him. The fact that the rest of the team is shuffled out the front door before they can steal his breakfast? Brunch? Lunch? The numbers on the stove are too blurry for him to make out and his phone is still dead so he’s not really sure what time it is currently. Regardless, the fact that they aren’t allowed to steal his food as soon as he’s woken up is rather enjoyable.</p>
<p>He downs the gatorade sitting next to his plate, slightly annoyed that it’s red. Still it’s something to drink, so he uses it to wash down both the pain meds and food so graciously provided by Scraps. It’s only when it’s just the two of them left and no food in between them anymore that Kent realizes what’s about to happen. A heavy stone falls to the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>“You sad,” Scraps starts.</p>
<p>Kent barks out a choked laugh. It’s not like Scraps is wrong, he’s just sorely underestimating how fucked up Kent is currently. Which only serves to remind him of how fucked up he was after Jack and how apparently the only romantic relationships he can conjure up end in him more fucked up at the end than the beginning. (He still counts Jeff and him as a romantic relationship because their not-date had gone really well and that’s a hill he’s willing to die on).</p>
<p>Scraps raises an eyebrow at that and Kent purposely drops his gaze to the fork and mess of leftover ketchup on his plate. He notices a chip dug out on the outer rim of said plate and idly wonders when that got there. He does not, however, respond verbally to Scraps.</p>
<p>“No Jeff and you sad. What happen?”</p>
<p>“Like I said- Jeff’s dealing with family stuff,” Kent replies, aiming for nonchalance, but more than likely missing the mark. He knows that Scraps is still staring him down, but between the pounding in his head and the impending wave of doom about to drown him, he really can’t be bothered to care. He grabs the plate and fork and sets about to bring them to the sink. Scraps only moves to turn around and stare at him from behind.</p>
<p>“You still sad, big sad even.”</p>
<p>Kent purposely does not expand on the fact that the word Scraps is probably looking for is depressed. Instead he just half-heartedly runs the water over his plate and fork and leaves them both for later. He shrugs, back still turned away from Scraps’ curious gaze and says the first thing that comes to his mind because apparently he has no filter.</p>
<p>“I’ve got family stuff of my own.”</p>
<p>“You going back to New York?” Scraps asks.</p>
<p>Kent turns at that, mostly startled as he realizes the implications of what he’s just said. He doesn’t normally go back for more than a week in the offseason, the only exception being that time he went once to spend time with his family and then again later for a cousin’s wedding. He hates the idea of spending more than half the year away from them only to blow in during the summers and act like he deserves their attention because he has money. It feels all too disingenuous, especially since he’d all but ditched them for the Zimmermanns back in Juniors, so instead he keeps his contact short. It feels a little too like returning home with his tail tucked between his legs otherwise.</p>
<p>It also probably helps keep his feelings of loneliness in check. Not like he’s ever tried it the other way around to compare. But if he started, he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop and he can’t put his family through that back and forth torment of him being there and overly invested one moment and gone the next. So he just doesn’t get involved.</p>
<p>Not like he had any super big ties leftover with his family by the time he’d been on the fast track to the NHL to begin with, regardless of his ties to Jack’s family. His parents had been divorced; his mother remarried with two younger step siblings and a half-sibling on the way and his father completely out of the picture. He does think his step father’s a decent guy, he just personally feels incredibly out of place whenever he shows up, like some distant third cousin who doesn’t normally make it to the family reunion but is an obligated invite because they share a percentage of DNA with the rest of them. But he still has the number of some trainers in New York who might be willing to take him on for the rest of the summer and everything else sucks, so why the fuck not? </p>
<p>He nods his head slowly, “Yeah, guess I am.”</p><hr/>
<p>Birdie’s only satisfied when he’s finished not one, but two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “There, you happy?” he asks as he sucks the jelly off of one of his fingers in a show.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you missed a crumb somewhere.”</p>
<p>Jeff rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“Now, are you going to get on with the story or what?” she asks.</p>
<p>“It’s still a long story,” he cautions.</p>
<p>“So you’ve said.”</p>
<p>He shrugs, like it’s her funeral. “Do you remember when I showed up to your interview process and claimed that I was looking for a new place because my friend’s girlfriend had decided to move in with us?”</p>
<p>She nods in affirmative.</p>
<p>“Anyway, that was complete bullshit.”</p>
<p>She snorts. “I mean I figured.”</p>
<p>He turns his head to the side, “What do you mean, you figured?”</p>
<p>“Rent’s not cheap and if the place was already a two bedroom place- what would it matter if your friend’s girlfriend moved into the other bedroom with your friend?”</p>
<p>Jeff falters, because she’s not wrong. “I mean if it makes you feel better, I didn’t leave him in a lurch with rent because his girlfriend was moving in with him.”</p>
<p>She shrugs as though it’s neither here nor there for her.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, “Anyway,” he pauses, “Wait- why didn’t you say anything if you knew I was lying?”</p>
<p>“You were the most normal candidate that had shown up at that point and I wasn’t about to risk my grandkids harking on me to move into a senior home because I didn’t have somebody else around.”</p>
<p>“But you’re like, seventy?”</p>
<p>She shrugs again, “They live far away so they like to micromanage from afar. It is what it is.” She makes a continue motion as if to say “go on”.</p>
<p>“Anyway,” he begins again, “I had to get out of that apartment because I had just left the job that he had managed to get me involved with in the first place.”</p>
<p>She raises an eyebrow at that, “Was it that shitty of a work environment?”</p>
<p>“Uh, I mean,” he mutters something under his breath, “it was traumatic.”</p>
<p>Her eyes widen, “Should you have gotten a lawyer involved for treating you unfairly?”</p>
<p>He barks out a laugh. “No, I, uh, it was a personal trauma that kept coming up. I worked at the ice rink. I was a skating coach, mainly involved with people who wanted to learn how to play hockey. I uh, used to actually play hockey.”</p>
<p>“You any good?” she asks, a smirk taking over her features.</p>
<p>He shifts his gaze down, “I was supposed to go to the draft,” he admits.</p>
<p>“The draft?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah, for the NHL. I mean I doubt I would’ve gone first round but I had an agent lined up and everything. I probably would’ve gotten picked up by somebody. Might’ve had to play down on a farm team for a bit until I proved myself, but yeah.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to be honest, I have no idea what any of that means.”</p>
<p>Jeff laughs at that. He’s always appreciated her honesty. “I could have played hockey professionally,” he explains.</p>
<p>“Oh!” she exclaims. “Why aren’t you then?”</p>
<p>He grimaces. Sometimes he still has nightmares about the crunch of metal and the accompanying stay at the hospital. The months of physical therapy that paid off in him being able to still skate, but only lightly, and that while he could work out, he would never be able to exert himself like before. How when it rains, his hips, right knee and left shoulder ache. “I was in a car accident,” is what he settles on.</p>
<p>She nods, her face passive, lips pressed into a thin line. </p>
<p>They’re both quiet for a moment and then. “But what does that have to do with your cousin?”</p>
<p>He lets out a heavy sigh. “He didn’t cause the accident,” he begins.</p>
<p>“Well that’s good to know at least,” she snorts.</p>
<p>“But, I was at this party and he threatened to out me so I panicked and called my dad who came to pick me up and then the accident happened,” he lets out in a rush.</p>
<p>An intense sadness falls over her features. “Oh Jeff,” she tries to begin.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, trying to will the tears to not fall. “My dad died,” he gasps out, “and I didn’t, obviously,” he lets out a wet laugh because apparently he can’t stop himself from crying. </p>
<p>She reaches her hand out across the table to rest it reassuringly on his arm. He places the hand opposite on top of hers. “And I had to get out because everyone kept looking at me with pity and I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I figured when John offered to put in a good word in Vegas I’d go because, fuck the rain, and it’s not like at the time it had a huge hockey following.”</p>
<p>“And it does now?”</p>
<p>He snorts, takes his hand off of hers and moves it to rest his chin on it. Hers slides down to rest at the inner crook of his elbow. “One could say that yes.”</p>
<p>She furrows her brow at that. “But what does this have to do with anything?”</p>
<p>He can feel his face heat up. “I, uh, I mean, I might’ve, uh,” he trails off.</p>
<p>“You were sleeping with somebody who does play in the NHL, weren’t you?”</p>
<p>He knows his rigid body language and complexion akin to that of a tomato give him away. He still just shrugs. He’s sure as shit not about to fuck up the NDA he signed for Kent.</p>
<p>“But-”</p>
<p>“My cousin noticed I was close to the team and because he knows I’m gay thought that where there was smoke there was fire.”</p>
<p>“And he wasn’t wrong about that,” she realizes.</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “No, and I already ruined my career by having a poorly timed panic attack. I wasn’t about to put someone else in that position. So I ended it.”</p>
<p>“But how does he feel about it?”</p>
<p>“He said it was fun while it lasted and then left.” He purposely does not mention the look on Kent’s face because that way leads to hope and hope can only lead to hurt. “We were only friends with benefits,” he reiterates more firmly than he feels. Still, when he wistfully breathes out “It’s for the best,” he’s not entirely sure he believes it.</p>
<p>“Oh Jeff,” is all Birdie says before standing up to come around and pull him into a hug. He goes all too easily.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>Mentions of the threat of being outed</li>
<li> Mentions of potential blackmail </li>
<li>Mentions of a car crash</li>
<li>Unhealthy use of alcohol used as a coping mechanism</li>
</ol>
<p>Honestly thank goodness for Birdie.</p>
<p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Have an early morning update (it's 12am here for me) since my hours at work have changed and this update probably wouldn't have gone up until way later today otherwise. I figured it was finished so why not?</p>
<p>There shouldn't be any content/trigger warnings. Or at least, none that stand out to me and I'm not going to add them at the end of the chapter this time due to that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kent doesn’t really remember how he got to New York. He doesn’t remember buying the ticket, packing or the entire trip through the airport and then subsequent flight from Las Vegas to New York. But there are images of him online from the airport where he apparently took pictures with a number of fans and he’s currently sitting at a table while his mom cooks spaghetti, so, he figures that all of that probably happened. </p>
<p>He blinks into awareness as his mom shoves a spoon in his face with what he realizes a little too slowly is sauce. He opens up out of reflex and closes back down. </p>
<p>“How is it?” she asks, all bright in her cheer, not at all perturbed that her son who hasn’t come home in forever is currently sitting at her counter.</p>
<p>He swallows thickly, the sauce sliding down his throat, but almost sticking on the way down. “Could use more basil,” he responds without thinking, slumping back down against the marble countertop.</p>
<p>She startles out of the peripheral of his vision, before dipping her spoon back down into the sauce and trying it herself. “You know what? I think you’re right.”</p>
<p>Kent shrugs half-heartedly, dropping his head into his folded arms. He really does not want to think about how he only knows that because of Jeff. He desperately holds onto the hope that his mother won’t ask after his new and improved taste buds. He purposely came here to forget about that whole mess, and also to appease Scraps, and yet here he is being bombarded with a memory of Jeff smiling down at him as he tries yet another creation of his.</p>
<p>Yeah, he knows he’s a mess, so sue him.</p>
<p>He’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually he feels his mom touch his shoulder as she walks past. Faintly through the house in the distance he hears her call for his sisters. He manages to not groan as he sits up to go join them at the table. He might as well go face the music.</p><hr/>
<p>His sisters are expressly excited to see him for whatever reason. Julie, the one that’s close to finishing high school, he thinks, looks appropriately demure, and Lyndsey, the middle girl keeps sending him what he assumes she thinks are discreet glances, as if he’s not the captain of an NHL team who has to be constantly on the lookout for any shit his rookies might pull. </p>
<p>But Mikayla, the youngest, is all but vibrating in the seat next to him. She had deliberately staked her claim after loudly traipsing down the stairs. His mother had just given him a fond smile and a look that was probably meant to say “what can you do?” when his sister had set her plate down a little too forcefully. He mostly can’t get over the fact that she’s a real person. Like, he’d always been aware that she’d existed, but here she is reminding him that she’s her own person. Hell, a middle schooler who apparently hates milk and has strong opinions on the season the Rangers played.</p>
<p>At one point he goes to open his mouth to ask her her opinion on his team or even just their Stanley Cup win this year but his mom has to have some sixth sense because she shoots him a look that instantly forces his mouth closed.  He’ll have to ask her about that later but in the interim he takes another bite of spaghetti before asking Mikayla what she thinks could be done about the Rangers’ power play. He’s impressed with her answer. </p>
<p>“And your favorite player?” he asks before reaching for his own glass of water, debating downing half of it for something to do.</p>
<p>She furrows her brow before finally settling on a name. “Charlota,” she announces with certainty. “He’s good at getting the puck on the face-offs and was one of their top scorers this season.”</p>
<p>Kent tries not to choke on his water as he swallows. He was not expecting that answer. He figured something more along the lines of her favorite number being the deciding factor, or if one of them had a dog or if she had met one of them at a signing event and latched onto the memory of that. It’s not like she’s wrong in her assessment of the guy though, he is good on the face off and he’s personally never super pumped when he ends up across from the guy during one because of that. But at least when they do face off he’s never been one of the assholes who spews slurs or makes innuendos in reference to the rumors that have surrounded him since Juniors.</p>
<p>“Fair enough,” he manages to finally reply when he’s done choking.</p>
<p>His mom and step-dad share a look and then their combined gaze is pinned on him. He shrivels up internally and ducks his head back toward his pasta. “Julie, why don’t you tell Kent about your plans for college this fall.”</p>
<p>Kent bites the inside of his cheek because when the fuck did that happen, but also he can take a hint. Enough talk of hockey at the table. He looks across the table and asks her what she’s planning on studying. Just because he’s been gone and is missing out on what feels like vital information doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how to hold a conversation. She lights up and launches into her excitement about starting a program in Marine Biology in the fall and the scholarship she’s received, which he’ll have to look into handling the rest of that at a later date, but for now he nods along in interest. </p>
<p>He’s acutely aware of Lyndsey still glancing at him, however, so when there’s a lull in the conversation he turns towards her. “And you?” he asks, because he has a feeling she’s been waiting to speak for a while.</p>
<p>“I made it onto the varsity swim team this past year as a freshman.” She announces it so primly but with an edge, like she’s daring him to comment on how it’s the wrong sport. </p>
<p>He just grins, “So you’ll be able save me if the ice melts then?”</p>
<p>It startles a laugh out of her, and the monotonous background sounds of everyone eating stops for a split second. A smirk spreads across Lyndsey’s face, “Yeah, I guess I could, I have my lifeguard certification and everything.”</p>
<p>Kent leans across the table to fist bump her. She returns it with a laugh. He goes back to take another bite, pointedly ignoring the curious gazes of the rest of his family. He knows what it’s like to be the outsider and he has no intention to let somebody remain on the outside looking in if he can help it.</p><hr/>
<p>He finds himself cleaning the dishes after dinner, another leftover habit from when Jeff used to cook for the both of them. He nearly drops a plate at that realization but powers on through, the nice feeling hanging around from dinner dissipating in an instant. </p>
<p>“That was nice of you,” his mother says, coming up behind him and startling him out of his thoughts. He shrugs, he really doesn’t want to get into it right now, he just wants to finish the dishes so he can go wallow in the guest room by himself. Be the sad piece of shit he knows he is. Maybe contemplate about why his mom is surprised he can hold a conversation with his family. Be a little bit more sad about that on top of everything else. The usual.</p>
<p>His mother apparently isn’t going to let it go so he moves past it quickly on his own accord. “Was thinking about going skating tomorrow- the girls can come if they want,” he says, his mouth moving and forming words without his permission. He’s not entirely sure it’s the right move, but it’s out there now and he’s not going to take it back. Especially since now that the idea’s taken root, he’s kind of attached to the idea.</p>
<p>He can sense the shock rolling off of his mother in waves. “Just don’t make fun of her team,” is what she must settle on.</p>
<p>He snorts and turns to face her, a dish half soaped up in one hand, sponge in the other. “Dave’s a good guy, would’ve invited him to tomorrow if I didn’t already know he was on his honeymoon right now,” he starts, “And honestly, her thoughts on their line changes and power play isn’t uninformed.”</p>
<p>She comes up to hug him from around the middle, “It’s just, you never <i>come home</i> come home and you seemed so out of it when you first got here.”</p>
<p>He rests his head on the crook where her neck and shoulder meet, breathing in her scent. “Just tired,” he mumbles into her skin.</p>
<p>He drops the plate back into the sink and lets him fall into her embrace. She rubs his back. He doesn’t allow himself to cry, but it’s a close thing. “Missed you,” he continues.</p>
<p>She presses a kiss to his forehead, “Missed you too, sweetheart.”</p><hr/>
<p>He gets them private ice time, because he’s nothing if not Kent Parson, the 2-time Stanley Cup winner. Sometimes he wonders if that’s all he’ll ever be, and if that’s even enough, but right now it gets them an hour of reserved ice time so he’ll take it. </p>
<p>Mikayla takes to the ice like a fish in the water, skating around him all too excited, stick in hand begging him to run some drills. He just smiles and ruffles her hair, “Sorry kiddo, got another week of light exercise. Probably shouldn’t even be on the ice right now.”</p>
<p>“Then why are you?” Julie asks, skating up in what he assumes are figure skates since he’s never seen that style on a hockey player before.</p>
<p>He shrugs, “Figured it’d help me clear my head.”</p>
<p>She gives him an appraising look up and down before nodding her head. He’s not entirely sure of what she’s seen and he’s also not entirely sure he wants to know.</p>
<p>A loud crash from the other side of the rink draws all of their attention. “Fucking, fuck,” Lyndsey hisses from where she’s sitting on the ice.</p>
<p>“Uh, you okay over there?” he asks.</p>
<p>“What the fuck do you think?” she asks, pulling herself up by gripping the edge of the rink. “Fucking no.”</p>
<p>“Do you want me to call somebody?” he chirps.</p>
<p>“Not that injured asshole.”</p>
<p>He snorts but skates towards her anyway, “Here, let me help you,” he offers, holding out his arm for her to grab onto. </p>
<p>“What are you even doing here anyway?” she grumbles as he helps steady her on their way over to their sisters. </p>
<p>“Coming home for a portion of the summer,” he replies easily.</p>
<p>“You never come without more warning,” she bites back.</p>
<p>“Well seeing as I won the Stanley Cup-”</p>
<p>He’s cut off by Mikayla, “You won the Stanley Cup?” she asks, eyes wide.</p>
<p>He glances down towards her and then back between Julie and Lyndsey as if to ask what he’s supposed to do about the fact that apparently nobody bothered to tell her exactly who he is. They look between each other and then back to him before shrugging. The message is clear, it’s a little too late to back out now.</p>
<p>He grins, faking a little too hard like he wasn’t just caught off guard, “Twice.”</p>
<p>Her eyes are wide but then her smile goes flat, “But you didn’t win it with the Rangers.”</p>
<p>He snorts, he can’t help himself, the Rangers hadn’t even made it to the playoffs this year. “No, not with the Rangers. I play for the Aces.” It doesn’t do much to appease her so he continues, “but maybe if they got some cleaner line changes and fixed their power play they’d have a better chance.”</p>
<p>A blinding beam of a smile spreads across her face. She turns to skate away to go after the bucket of pucks they’d brought to practice something or the other he assumes with her potential reinvigoration.</p>
<p>“You’re not fucking with her, right?” Lyndsey asks.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, turning to her before moving her into a position so that he can help her skate. “No, she’s right. Kind of wish I knew their coach just so I could have her meet him and watch his face when she said just that to be honest. Their line changes are a mess, their power plays are weak and Charlota’s good on the face off.”</p>
<p>“And I guess you’d know that, hunh?” she asks, as Kent continues to skate backwards.</p>
<p>He smirks, “Yeah, I guess I would.”</p><hr/>
<p>Later, when they’re all piled into Kent’s rental, properly exhausted from skating and way too full with greasy food from a local diner, Julie makes sure to sit next to him in the passenger seat. She turns quickly to check the backseat. Mikayla’s listing against her seatbelt, if not asleep, at least mostly there. Lyndsey’s slumped against the car door, cheek pressed against the window. She turns back.</p>
<p>“You’re not fucking with her, right?” she asks quietly over the start of the car’s engine. </p>
<p>Kent’s head whips over to look at her, “Why does everything think I’m fucking with her?”</p>
<p>“You’re you, and she’s,” Julie trails off. The <i>she’s a hockey fanatic who only just realized who her older brother really is a couple hours earlier</i>, goes unsaid.</p>
<p>It’s quiet then, the radio barely louder than the wind whipping outside of the car. It’s not until they’re on the freeway does she speak again. “You never come home,” she whispers softly.</p>
<p>“I come home.” Sure he doesn’t come home for long stretches of time but that’s because if he does then he’s not sure how the even longer stretches of him being gone during the season will affect his relationship with them. Also, the whole Zimmermann debacle. He’s never been quite sure how to apologize for that mess.</p>
<p>“Hardly.” She glances behind her to make sure Lyndsey and Mikayla are still asleep.</p>
<p>“I’m busy.”</p>
<p>“Too busy for your own family?”</p>
<p>He deflates with a sigh. “And like the distance and lack of time and stuff,” he drops his voice lower, “I just didn’t want everyone to get too attached.”</p>
<p>It’s her turn to snort, “What, you didn’t want us to get attached to you or you didn’t want to get attached to us?”</p>
<p>He sucks in a breath because she’s a little too close to home on that one. </p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” There’s another moment of silence. “I just don’t know how you don’t get that if you truly love something, time apart is inconsequential.”</p>
<p>She turns away from him to look out her own window, signifying the conversation is over. He’s not sure he understands either.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't pretend to know anything about the Rangers, especially since they're not my home state's team. I have no idea if anything Kent's said is accurate to real life but also the story currently takes place in 2014 and it's an AU of not real life regardless. So it is what it is.</p>
<p>Also, Dave Charlota isn't a real player. I asked my group chat for a hockey name quickly since I didn't want to do RPF and that's the first thing they came up with. </p>
<p>And finally- don't worry, we see Jeff again next chapter. When I was writing this one out though, Kent's family ended up taking up the whole chapter and it didn't feel right to add another section when Kent's part ended the way it did. </p>
<p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Christmas if that's something you're celebrating today! Otherwise a general happy holidays to all.</p>
<p>Just as an fyi there's a time skip when we switch from Kent's pov to Jeff's pov after the first section. It goes from July to December since there was no reason to keep adding filler chapters and the filler chapters would've just been them being sad with nothing happening. Don't get me wrong- there's still angst in this chapter, it's just angst with a purpose haha</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>July</i>
</p>
<p>He and his sisters arrive and disperse just as quickly as they had come together. That’s when he notices his mom hovering at the separation between the kitchen and the dining room.</p>
<p>“Kent-” she starts. </p>
<p>And then he loses track of everything else she says because he’s just so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of being hidden. The logical part deep within the recesses of his brain figures that there’s a logical reason for everything, like why his youngest sister hadn’t known who he was, but he doesn’t have the mental nor the emotional capacity to go looking for it. Sure, maybe they had wanted to protect him but it still feels an awful lot like being abandoned and with everything else, it’s extremely overwhelming. Like an ocean wave crashing down over and over again until he’s withered away into nothingness.</p>
<p>God he’s so tired.</p>
<p>“I have to catch a plane to California,” he says cutting her off. She looks slightly startled but he forges on. “Training, you know how it goes.” He hadn’t even bothered to check in with the trainer in New York to see if he was available, hasn’t even checked in to see if the one in California will be either. He just needs to be away. </p>
<p>She nods slowly.</p>
<p>“You can tell the girls I’ll be back in town for the game against the Rangers, if you want to see me then.”</p>
<p>“I-” she starts again.</p>
<p>And he can’t, he just can’t bear to hear the next word be “don’t” so he cuts her off again.</p>
<p>“Right, well just let me know if it works for your schedule. And I guess get me in touch with Julie’s office of financial aid?”</p>
<p>“Well, I don’t thi-”</p>
<p>He feels the emotions well up in his eyes and forces his throat to not seize shut. “Just, let me do one thing.”</p>
<p>Her face looks strained, the crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes becoming more prominent. “Well, if you think.”</p>
<p>“I do,” he nods jerkily, and far too quickly.</p>
<p>And with that, he leaves, because of course he does.</p><hr/>
<p>
  <i>December</i>
</p><p>It’s raining again which really proves Jeff’s point in that rain is the worst. Losing his job is a pretty close second, but rain just straight up sucks. The fact that the bus goes by right as he gets to the stop causing him to have to stand in the rain for even longer is just the cherry on top of this already shitty day. </p>
<p>He lets out a deep sigh and settles in for the long haul. The December chill isn’t really helping anything, even if he does run hot and hasn’t completely lost his Canadian sensibilities. He shivers, stubbornly holding out by leaning against the sign pronouncing the location of the bus stop. He still knows better than to ask if it can get worse.</p><hr/>
<p>He creeps into the condo just after 3pm. He doesn’t think Birdie’ll be asleep but he also isn’t not sure she won’t be. Also he just really doesn’t want to deal with anyone right now. He has no such luck, because as it is- she’s sitting on the couch nursing a cup of what looks to be warm tea. </p>
<p>Jeff doesn’t salivate at the thought, but it’s a close thing. He probably won’t be able to stomach coffee any time soon, but a warm cup of tea sounds like it could be a good idea</p>
<p>She glances up and gives him a thorough once over. “Well, look at what the wind blew in.”</p>
<p>He snorts before letting out a long shuttering sigh. He’s mostly gotten over the whole crying at night phase of his getting over Kent. He wouldn’t call it a resounding success, but he sleeps through the night most nights, so he’ll take what he can get. Doesn’t mean the wound isn’t still a little raw and that he’s all but frayed at the edges- but it's something. </p>
<p>Birdie raises an eyebrow, “Did your lover boy pop in today?” She draws out the words, like she has hopes that it’ll draw out whatever news he’s harboring close to his heart.</p>
<p>He shakes his head. Kent certainly hadn’t come to seek him out since they broke it off and Jeff had followed suit. He’d tried watching some of the games when the season had started (definitely not because he wanted to see Kent or anything, just it was nice to watch hockey), but whenever he'd watched Kent play he'd found himself hurtling backwards into memories. If Kent did well he would remember their previous celebrations and if Kent looked lost on the ice he was haunted by the belief that he was the root cause. Jeff had stopped watching after the third game.</p>
<p>“I, uh, actually lost my job,” he finally manages to stutter out.</p>
<p>She sputters, stopping herself from bringing the mug all the way to her mouth. “What?” she exclaims.</p>
<p>He shrugs, and goes to sit down next to her. He’d mostly dried off on the bus, but the walk from the drop-off stop to the condo had soaked him some more. He contemplates how he’ll have to dry the couch afterwards but only for a moment since most of the time he loathes the piece of furniture. It’s a little hard to enjoy its comfort when he’s constantly reminded of the time he'd been fucked against it. The bedroom’s worse, but his mattress is still relatively new and he doesn’t want to waste it, the couch he figures could be considered on its last legs at least.</p>
<p>She squawks as her cushion rises when he sits down. “Sorry,” he mumbles against her shoulder. He’s silent, resting there for a moment, gathering the last dredges of his energy up through him to continue with the conversation. “They closed the shop today, let us know that we didn’t need to come back anymore because they just weren’t making enough money.”</p>
<p>Birdie shifts against him and he tries to chase after her with his head because he’d been enjoying using her shoulder as a pillow. The mug clinks against a coaster on the coffee table. He blinks his eyes open to find himself staring at a level of indignance that he hadn’t been aware could exist on anyone, let alone Birdie. “That’s illegal,” she states, so sure of herself.</p>
<p>“Nope,” he pops the p at the end. “Nevada’s an at-will state.”</p>
<p>She just gapes. “It’s still bullshit,” she finally huffs twisting back around to face the TV. He puts his head back down against her shoulder. He’s so exhausted and while he might not be touch starved, it hasn’t exactly been easy to transition from being constantly touched by Kent to just not- completely cold turkey.</p>
<p>He steadies his breath, floating in that in-between limbo of asleep and awake. He twists his face up into a wry smile. Well now at least he has a legitimate reason for not getting a plane ticket home for Christmas. Not that he’d been planning on going home anyway, he hasn’t celebrated in person since 2007, and even then he’d been in a different country by New Year’s. Still he can’t even imagine trying to appear happy around his family when Kent should be tucked against his side and Daniel should be nowhere near them and the reality is likely to be the opposite. He had purposely made sure nobody knew he was moving until the last minute and only his immediate family, read mom and sister, had known where because of that fucker. </p>
<p>At least he’s already bought his gifts for them, just has to get them to the post office soon. He jolts at the realization that he’ll have plenty of time now that he’s lost his job.</p>
<p>“Penny for your thoughts?”</p>
<p>Jeff seizes up at that. The maudlin turn his thoughts have taken isn’t something he’s entirely keen on sharing.</p>
<p>“Or not,” she says leaning forward to grab her mug again, taking away his resting place.</p>
<p>He stares at her, debates for a heartbeat before deciding he just doesn’t care anymore. “Probably a good thing they fired me.”</p>
<p>She turns to stare at him incredulously, dragging the mug up to her lips.</p>
<p>“You know, since I hooked up in the back office once.”</p>
<p>She spits her tea out at that, then narrows her eyes at him. “Well now you can’t say anything about what I get into during my free time.”</p>
<p>The laugh’s ripped from his frame involuntarily. It sounds rough from unuse. It feels good.</p><hr/>
<p>The words Julie spoke haven’t left his thoughts. They’ve been ping ponging around his head since his sudden departure and most of the time he feels like he’s going insane because of it. He takes it like a penance for leaving so soon, a martyr in his own right.</p>
<p>At least he has hockey to help him forget. Mostly.</p>
<p>And he’s doing well this year, statistically technically even better than last year. Reporters have been asking if he’s planning on leading his team to a back to back cup win and he has a feeling that they don’t mean it as a joke anymore. They’re all on the lookout for the next soundbite that’ll elevate their career, wondering if he’s as cocky as all the reports make him out to be. As if he’d ever say anything to jinx their chances, superstition humming in his blood.</p>
<p>So he just smiles, throws back his head and laughs every time he’s peppered with that question as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard and then responds with the same “That’s the goal.” Without fail some new blood will use that as a leeway to ask about whatever amount of goals he’s managed to net that night. He might be in the spotlight, but he’s learned to dance to the tune, no need to change routine now. Especially when he’s currently leading the league in both points and assists and also happens to be on a 30-game point streak.</p>
<p>He doesn’t bother mentioning that he’s all but isolated himself from the team. That even Scraps has given up on getting on him to join them on outings. His wearing the C begins and ends on the ice. He’s not even entirely sure of the names of the rookies. He distantly wonders if the C would’ve been taken from him if he wasn’t already Vegas’ savior, or if his percentages weren’t so good this year. But then that sets him off for a spiral and he finds himself purposely working harder on and off the ice in practice, anything to keep those thoughts in check. </p>
<p>He’s in New York, again, when the cracks begin to tear through the façade.</p>
<p>It starts when he’s on the face-off across from Charlota. The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, “You're my sister’s favorite player.”</p>
<p>Charlota startles, letting him win the face-off. He shoots if off to the center call-up who he hasn’t bothered learning’s name. He’s technically not a rookie since he’s spent a couple years down on the farm team but he’s also still new to the NHL and Kent is a little too entrenched in his own shit right now to try. Kent shoots forward not even double checking to make sure that the puck’s connected with the other stick, working off of pure instinct. </p>
<p>He hears his name above the din of fans and players, looks for the puck automatically and makes sure it connects with his stick. Dekeing around a hulking d-man he feints right before maneuvering the puck to shoot it in left side top shelf. The center whose name he doesn’t know slams into him. He ignores the weird feeling he gets and the fact that he can feel the heavy gaze of Charlota following him.</p>
<p>31-game point streak now.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent doesn’t go out with the guys, but that’s par for the course lately so he doesn’t dwell too much on that. He doesn’t stay in either, not with how he feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. He slips out when he’s positive that the team’s already left the hotel. He’s been trying to be better about the whole getting drunk thing, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in the mood to drown his sorrows in a thick strawberry milkshake.</p>
<p>The diner he’d taken his sisters out to is just as non-descript as he remembers it being. This late at night nobody’s really around either to recognize him. He lets out a deep sigh of relief when the waitress takes his order with an unfeigned air of boredom. </p>
<p>He jolts when somebody slides in across from him, but when he looks up it’s just Charlota.</p>
<p>“Dave?” he hisses out, “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Dave raises an eyebrow, “I could ask you the same thing.”</p>
<p>Kent snorts, “I’m a local, grew up here and all that jazz.”</p>
<p>Dave’s gaze turns to something more thoughtful, “But you’re not a local anymore.” There’s something final about the statement.</p>
<p>Kent scowls but forces himself to paint on a smile that likely comes off as a grimace for the waitress when she drops off his shake. She doesn’t even bother to ask if Dave wants anything and Kent’s never been so grateful for someone providing such subpar service.</p>
<p>“I guess technically not. I mean the Aces are located in Vegas. But it’s not like this just magically isn’t my hometown anymore.”</p>
<p>Dave just nods slowly at that, stretching up from where he’s been leaning against the slick linoleum table top. “Is that why I’m your sister’s favorite then?” </p>
<p>Kent doesn’t bother worrying about any potential lascivious overtones. Mikayla’s like twelve, Dave’s married and since he scored on the face-off with that information he figures chirping like this is the least of his worries.</p>
<p>He nods around his straw, pausing from taking a long sip. “She likes that you’re good on the face-off.”</p>
<p>“But tonight you were better,” Dave points out.</p>
<p>Kent shrugs again, dropping the straw from his mouth completely. “She also thinks your teams’ power play is weak.”</p>
<p>Dave lets out a bark of a laugh at that. Kent would be worried about patrons looking at them weird but they’re the only ones currently here.</p>
<p>“So was your family at the game tonight then?” he asks, tone lighter now.</p>
<p>Kent shakes his head, a bubble of shame starting to make its way up his gut. He’s not particularly in the mood to discuss how devastating it’d been when they’d told him it wouldn’t be a good idea since it was a school night. He doesn’t want to admit to too much detail so he just mutters a quick, “busy,” before glancing back down to his mostly empty cup.</p>
<p>He thinks Dave nods in his peripheral. “Well, if they ever want tickets even if you’re not playing us, just let me know. Ash is the only one who comes to the games really, so I definitely have some to spare.”</p>
<p>Kent glances up bewildered, gulping when he makes note of the glint of silver on Dave’s left hand. He hates how his stomach drops- the fact that he can’t be openly married even if he wanted to settling uneasily and roiling against the strawberry milkshake that’s already sitting like a lead weight at the bottom. He feels nauseous.</p>
<p>Kent nods after he gets over his initial shock. He can’t see any reason to keep his sister from enjoying hockey just because it’s since lost the glamour for him.</p>
<p>Dave must take that as both confirmation and his cue to go because he pushes his chair back with a casual, “See you around,” before heading out into the tundra that’s taken up residence outside of the diner. He huddles closer to the table, hating how small he feels in that it’s as though he’s been replaced. First Jeff, now his family, what next- Jack?</p>
<p>He goes cold all over. Oh God, what if Jack’s replaced him?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>Jeff loses his job</li>
<li>Both Kent &amp; Jeff show signs of depression</li>
<li>Kent is purposely isolating himself from people as a result of his depression</li>
</ol>
<p>Did I google if Nevada was an at-will state just so that the interaction between Birdie and Jeff could occur? Yes.</p>
<p>Anyway, Leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote this chapter originally in like 4 hours and then was so hyped that I told one of my professors that I had just finished chapter 17 and then he wanted told me to let him know when the story was done because he looked forward to reading it and I said sure and then just never told him when I did. </p><p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kent’s not sure he knows how to breathe beyond shallow gasps, the thought of him being so easily replaceable settling over him like a second skin stretched too thin and too tight. That’s the state he stays in until they reach Boston. He’s never been so grateful that the NHL decided that flying was the preferred method of travel over other options. An hour is far more bearable compared to the potential of over three, stuck in traffic and surrounded by other cars. At least on a plane he can jam his headphones in and look out the window and pretend like he’s alone. </p><p>Nobody bothers him and he can finally take slightly deeper breaths when he steps off the plane. The airport’s crowded and he purposely gets lost in the anonymity, or at least as much as he can considering he’s moving with a pack of hockey players. He’s not sure if it’d be better or worse if he was the home team. Nobody asks after their autographs at least, but they do get the occasional person who stops and stares. One even points.</p><p>He only breathes easily when he finally makes it to his hotel room. Alone. Scraps having taken to rooming with one of the new rookies- something about Russian bonding. Kent tries not to equate that to being replaced but winces regardless. He sits down on the single bed and tries not to think about Jeff, or Jack or Scraps or his family. What he wouldn’t give for even a practice to keep him busy. As it is this is one of their few days off on this roadie.</p><p>It’s like an elastic band snapping when the realization hits him. He’s in Boston, which means he’s in Massachusetts, which means that Jack’s college is somewhere nearby. He nearly chokes on a sob as he rummages for his phone. He has some things he needs to set up, and all day to do it, what with their game against Boston not happening until tomorrow night.</p>
<hr/><p>He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he pulls up to the house in a far too expensive car, which he’s regretting renting right about now because snow is actually a thing in the north, but the overflow of people and haphazardly strewn lights was not it. He swallows, being careful to park in between the drunk students next to the curb. </p><p>
  <i>Did they invite the entirety of Massachusetts?</i>
</p><p>He gets out of the car, making sure to lock it. It’s not that he doesn’t trust these kids but one of them’s currently passed out on the lawn, so he definitely doesn’t trust any of them. He hears somebody puke off to the side and he grimaces. He’s already decided against drinking any of the alcohol that’ll be here. He vaguely remembers something called tub juice that’s lethal and how he had accidentally outed himself to least one person last time he was here, so definitely none of that.</p><p>He shoves his hat further down against the back of his neck. Part of him wishes he could turn it around to make himself more inconspicuous but then it would be more likely to be knocked off if he ran into something or someone and he just needs to get in and get out. Jack will be in his room, likely studying since he always cared about that far more than Kent ever did, and then he’s not really sure what will happen.</p><p>He just needs to figure out exactly where that is. Alcohol and time having distorted his memory just a little too much. He shakes his head, the frat doesn’t look too large. It shouldn’t be that hard to find him.</p><p>But then what?</p><p>He hates the hope that he harbors close to his heart that maybe they’ll fall back into each other like no time has passed, or even just that they’ll start talking again. He’s had to have had enough time to get over his stuff with anxiety, right? Worst case scenario Jack yells at him like last time, but he has two Stanley Cups to his name now so he has to be good enough for him now.</p><p>A thought pops into his head, maybe he can convince Jack to join the Aces. His heart throttles itself into his throat. He tries to do the mental math, Jack should be graduating this year. That means he’s probably shopping around for teams, or at least teams are shopping around for him. He probably should’ve been paying more attention to how management was going to play this, but he’s been a little too in his head lately to worry about anything beyond himself. Still, they would probably be willing to make cap space to try and recreate the magic that used to be the two of them on ice.</p><p>He takes a deep breath to steady himself. Just as long as he hasn’t been replaced. That’s all he needs. He can wait forever if necessary.</p>
<hr/><p>Jack’s silhouette’s tucked up against a wall, back to a doorway he assumes leads to the kitchen. Which is a surprise in itself but then he hears it, a Southern lilt followed by Jack’s response. His stomach bottoms out and it takes everything in him not to turn around.</p><p>Jack can have friends. It would be sociopathic to suggest otherwise. He has friends. Or at least, he thinks he has friends. Hopefully Scraps still considers him one. </p><p>The words leave his mouth before he can stop himself. “I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t seeing it myself. Jack Zimmermann. At a party. <i>Taking a selfie</i>.” The words might be laced with venom but he can’t stop himself in that regard either.</p><p>Jack visibly startles, an involuntary “Kent,” falling from his lips.</p><p>The Southern lilt is turned to him with an, “Oh my gosh!”</p><p>He smirks, putting on a show. It might not be media but he’s sure as shit not going to show that he’s been caught off guard. No matter that he’s staring at what’s likely his replacement in a younger, sweeter package. <i>God if he plays hockey</i>- Kent stops that line of thought immediately.</p><p>“Hey Zimms,” he says instead, “Didja miss me?”</p>
<hr/><p>The fact that Jack takes off the second the blond kid asks for a selfie shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does. The crowd that immediately forms around him when they realize who he is doesn’t help matters, but he dutifully plays the part. He’s already risking his neck with PR by coming here tonight, no point in not being courteous to the partygoers.</p><p>He doesn’t ask the blond kid where Jack might’ve gone off to after the selfie train has all but dissipated. Mostly because he’s been whisked off across the room to where he’s assuming two d-men are talking animatedly to him. At least, he thinks they’re d-men, they’re definitely large enough, and seem comfortable in the house in a way that suggests they’re used to holding court here.</p><p>A head pops up under one of his arms and he startles. “Sup?”</p><p>“Uh, just looking for Jack,” he shoots them a smile, aiming for placating but probably landing somewhere in condescending. He’s never quite been able to master the difference.</p><p>A glint flashes in their eyes and lips quirking up razor thin. “I might know where he went.”</p><p>Which great, he’s getting a little overwhelmed with the noise and people pressed this close to him, he’ll take any thread of hope he can get. “Yeah?” he asks, trying to turn the charm up, briefly wondering how Jeff would’ve reacted to it if they hadn’t reconnected over spilled coffee instead.</p><p>“Yup, just gotta play me in flip cup for it.”</p><p>He wills his face to remain impassive. He will not give away just how terrifying the idea of that is. He hasn’t played that game since Juniors and to top it off, his alcohol tolerance has to be close to nil right now. Still, it’s the best lead he’s got beyond continuing to bump into guests and losing more time that could be spent with Jack.</p><p>“No tub juice, right?” he asks warily, he still needs to drive back tonight if he wants to make it back in time for morning skate.</p><p>“Nah, just beer,” is the response.</p><p>He nods before finally shrugging and going, “Sure.” He hopes only he can hear the warble of confidence in the response.</p>
<hr/><p>He loses spectacularly. Which he should’ve known that was going to be the outcome from the get go. He doesn’t bother asking after Jack again when, who he now knows as Lardo, crows in victory. He knows how to be a gracious loser.</p><p>Doesn’t mean he doesn’t stumble backwards into a group of students trying to reach the wall because everything’s spinning. Fun fact, chugging beer on a mostly empty stomach after not drinking anything in months, can in fact get you drunk. He works to steady himself by gulping in deep breaths of air, forehead pressed against the peeling wallpaper.</p><p>Somebody stumbles into him from the side and all he does is half-heartedly look up. “Oh my goodness! You’re Kent Parson. I’m sooooo sorry for running into you. I didn’t hurt you right? I definitely don’t want to be responsible for hurting an NHL player. That would be terrible. I mean you’re not playing the Sharks tomorrow night, otherwise I might, haha not really. I think you’re playing Boston tomorrow, right? So I don’t really care who wins, Boston’s not my team, you know? Unless Jack joins them- then they’ll have to be one of my teams. Not more than the Sharks of course, but that doesn’t matter anyway because I think he said something about the Falconers.”</p><p>Kent closes his eyes and mutters, “Jesus kid, breathe.”</p><p>“Oh! Right!” and Kent hears a deep intake of breath off to his side. “Sorry! I know I can talk a lot. Anyway, I hope it’s not rude of me to ask, otherwise Bitty will take my pie privileges away and I <i>really</i> don’t want that, but whatcha doing here?”</p><p>Kent opens his eyes slowly to turn and look at the interloper. He’s shaggy all over, a too wide smile with braces stretching the width, baseball cap shoved over his head and a Sharks hoodie. “Just came to see Jack,” he finally settles on.</p><p>“Oh! You came on a good day then. Normally he never comes to these things, but Bitty managed to get him to come down for once. Which is awesome because he’s like the best captain <i>ever</i>.”</p><p>“Bitty the blond kid?”</p><p>“Oh yeah! Bitty’s the best. He’s a great winger on the ice. Kind of like you- except he makes pies, so that automatically makes him better. Unless you make pies? But also he’s on my team, the only way he could be better is if he played for the Sharks. Now that would be awesome. Oh what if we both ended up playing for the Sharks? Now that’s something I could really get behind.”</p><p>Kent draws in another deep breath to steady himself. He refuses to cry while drunk in front of what’s probably an over exuberant college freshman.</p><p>When words finally come to him he manages to get out, “Any idea where he is currently?”</p><p>“Who Bitty?” he asks confused, nodding his head to where he presumes is Bitty’s location.</p><p>He shakes his head. “Jack,” he says instead.</p><p>“Oh!” his face brightens considerably, “Jack went upstairs to his room.” He places his hands on Kent’s shoulders and turns him till he can see a set of stairs that presumably lead up to Jack’s room.</p><p>Kent all but chokes on how his luck has turned around. He fumbles in his pants pockets until he finds his wallet, pulling it out and rifling through it until he finds a bill large enough. “Sorry it’s not more,” he tells the kid who’s gone slack jawed. “Tell Bitty,” he tries not to sneer at the name, “to make you a pie.”</p><p>He shoves his wallet back into his pocket as he stumbles through the rest of the crowd, weaving in between couples making out. He doesn’t respond to the call telling him it’s too much, because in truth, Kent’s not even sure if it’s enough.</p>
<hr/><p>Jack isn’t exactly welcoming when he slowly opens the door to his bedroom, but he still lets him into his room, so he’ll take what he can get. </p><p>“Kent,” he starts, a warning as much as it’s an opening.</p><p>“Jack,” he counters.</p><p>“What are you doing here?”</p><p>Which, what is he doing here? He furrows his brow. It’s kind of hard to follow the train of thought he’d been utilizing earlier before the beer and claustrophobia. Something about his family and Jeff and Scraps and a plane and a car. He snorts at that because planes, trains and automobiles. All he needs to do now is take a train and he’s pretty sure Boston has them so maybe?</p><p>Except, Jack backs away wary, and Kent snaps his eyes up. Which shit, he didn’t come here with the intention of making Jack out to be an animal backed in a corner. He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t been replaced. He just needs to know that Bitty, or whatever that blond kid’s real name is, isn’t the one making whispered promises in dark spaces to Jack.</p><p>“Kent,” Jack begins again, “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Each word is a punctuated syllable that punches straight through his gut.</p><p>“Uh,” he responds, because truly what the fuck is he doing here? For whatever reason this made more sense sober and he is definitely not that right now.</p><p>“If you’re here to ask me about where I’m signing-”</p><p>Kent cuts him off, “Yes!” he exclaims, because sure, he can work with that. He takes his hat off to have something to do with his hands, before giving up and placing it on the back of a chair.</p><p>“I don’t know where I’m signing.” His voice is firm and there’s an air of authority behind it, something Kent recognizes in himself when he switches into Captain mode. </p><p>He doesn’t let it affect him like it would’ve in years past, but it does curtail him a little bit. “...You have no clue?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t break at the end. He really doesn’t want to cry tonight, but he’s pretty close and the dam has been threatening to break for a while now.</p><p>Jack shrugs, eyes still narrow, posture still too stock straight. “I mean it could be Montreal.”</p><p>Kent scoffs, he doubts even Jack’s that well adjusted that he’d be able to handle the pressure of playing for the same team where his father had raised the cup three separate times.</p><p>“It could be LA.”</p><p>Kent can’t stop the breathy laugh that he exhales at that one. The Kings had barely made it on a wild card last season and he wants to play for that mess of an organization? The Aces had swept them in the first round. He remembers because the sex with Jeff afterwards had been fantastic. He twists his face up at that.</p><p>“Okay?” there’s a hint of pleading in his voice now. “I don’t know.”</p><p>It feels like a lie, if that what the freshman downstairs said holds any truth. But at the same time, it means that Jack might not be opposed to playing on an expansion team. And the Aces have been around a little longer, only by a year or two, but whatever. His team at least has a better record, and who wouldn’t want a chance to lift the cup?</p><p>“...What about Las Vegas?” He asks before he can stop himself. He’s long since lost the purpose of this conversation but he needs to know now, and he’s always been quick on his feet, he can maneuver it back around soon enough.</p><p>The look Jack shoots him, eyes pleading with what words can’t convey almost sends Kent spiraling. He hates that Jack still holds this kind of power over him. “I...I don’t know, okay?”</p><p>No, no it’s not okay. He sucks in a deep breath, knowing that in a second they’re going to turn shallow. He’s run through this gamut before.</p><p>“Parse-”</p><p>Kent can’t breathe. It’s like his worst nightmare come to life. He has to be dreaming. He pinches himself and all but manages to restrain the yelp. His tunnel vision narrows until all he can see is Jack’s face.</p><p>“-Kenny…” there’s a pause, “I can’t do this.”</p><p>“...Jack,” he pleads, “Come on.” </p><p>This can’t be happening. </p><p>“No, I, Uh.”</p><p>“-Zimms,” he begins and then a hot pool of anger that’s been left to ferment for far too long starts to bubble the long way up through him. Who the fuck does he think he is? Jack Zimmermann’s oh so special. The NCAA ruled that he could play in college even though he’d already technically gone pro. His dad won four cups and handed everything to him on a silver spoon. Meanwhile Kent had to claw his way up through the dredges of all the leagues, practice twice as hard just because he was more likely to be looked over due to his size and Jack thinks he’s too good to play with him?</p><p>“Just fucking <b>stop thinking</b> for once and listen to me,” he grits out. That’s all he ever does, Kent thinks bitterly to himself. Over thinks himself to death until he’s on the floor of the bathroom overdosed on anxiety medication.</p><p>“I’ll tell the GMs you’re on board and they can free up cap space. Then you can be <b>done</b> with this shitty team. You and me-”</p><p>It’s Jack who does the cutting off this time, “Get out.”</p><p>He startles, manages to choke out a, “Jack,” desperately blinking back the tears threatening to spill over.</p><p>“Kenny,” he says, his voice deathly low, “You can’t- you don’t come to my <b>fucking school unannounced</b>.”</p><p>“Because you shut me out-” he flings back, years worth of hurt rising to the surface, inhibitions lost to the alcohol.</p><p>“And corner me in my room.”</p><p><i>Because you left me no choice</i>, he thinks darkly, instead saying, “I’m trying to help.”</p><p>“And expect me to do whatever you want-”</p><p>“Fuck! Jack!! What do you want me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, okay?” he sobs, the tears slowly starting their descent down his cheeks. “I miss you.”</p><p>He’s not sure who makes the first move, just that their mouths are together, no air between them. Jack’s hands are at his waist, rucking up his shirt, and his hands are in Jack’s hair. But it’s wrong, everything about this is wrong. And yet, he’s not sure how to make it right. “I miss you,” he whispers semi-audibly into Jack’s collarbone, ignoring how the shirt’s nearly threadbare and the heat of him is easy to feel between them.</p><p>“You always say that,” Jack responds, the noise mostly muffled by his hair.</p><p>And that’s just, well that’s nice. Good to know that Jack doesn’t even believe his feelings were ever real for him. Like Kent had always known Jack was the more skittish of the two but really? He managed to somehow delude himself into believing that Kent never cared for him at all.</p><p>“Huh. Well, Shit. Okay.” He backs aways because this is all too much. “You know what Zimmermann? You think you’re too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough? Well, guess what?” he pauses to gather every amount of hurt he’s felt throughout the years, the loneliness that’s followed him since the draft and how easily replaceable he is and throws it into his next words. “Everyone already knows what you are but it’s people like me who still care.”</p><p>Does he still care though? Sometimes he thinks it might be better if he was just numb to his feelings and yet here he is berating Jack in his own bedroom.</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“You’re just scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right?” he hisses the last word.</p><p>Jack levels him with a glare that’s both haunted and a glower.</p><p>“Oh don’t worry, just give it a few seasons, Jack. Trust me.”</p><p>Which, that was probably a little harsh, but if Jack’s going to make him out to be the bad guy, then why the fuck not play into it. </p><p>“G-get out of my room.”</p><p>He throws his hands up, “Fine, shut me out again.”</p><p>“And stay-stay away from my team.”</p><p>Kent sneers. The only reason why the team is probably decent enough to do anything is because Jack’s on it. He doubts he’ll have an interest in it after Jack’s been signed elsewhere.</p><p>“Why? Afraid I’ll tell them something?”</p><p>“Leave, Parse,” his voice lowers to an octave he’s not previously encountered from him before.</p><p>He rolls his eyes and turns to yank the door open. Who he presumes to be Bitty is kneeling on just outside the door, grasping for what looks to be a key of some sort on the cracked wooden panels of the floor. He snorts, then clears his throat, because of course this could get worse. If he thought he was too drunk before, he’s definitely too sober for the rest of this shit.</p><p>He reaches for his hat. “Hey, well call me if you reconsider or whatever,” he aims for nonchalance, shoving it backwards onto his head. Maybe he can blend in with the rest of the guests from various frat houses. He’s really not in the mood for pictures right now.</p><p>And then just because he can, just because he needs Jack to feel the same as him he throws in one last dig. “But good luck with the Falconers, I’m sure that’ll make your dad proud.”</p><p>He hears the both of them suck in gasps and Kent makes sure to continue onwards, back down the stairs into the throng of partygoers and straight out the front door. He’s not the one who made the mess in the first place, they can clean it up.</p><p>If he slumps into the front seat of his rental car and cries to every song on the radio on the way back, well nobody has to know. He still goes on to score two more points against Boston the next night. </p><p><i>32-game point streak</i>, he thinks to himself, <i>take that Zimmermann</i>. </p><p>It doesn’t really help.</p>
<hr/><p>Jeff’s dead to the world when he feels his phone vibrate against his pillow. He blinks blearily. He doesn’t think it’s time for him to get up, but his new serving job has had him working some random ass hours so maybe. People want some weird shit at all hours of the day, and night, in Vegas apparently.</p><p>An unknown number is blinking up at him through the dark. He faceplants back down into the pillow, it’s probably just a spam call.</p><p>His phone starts up again and he groans. He hadn’t realized that spam callers had gotten so obnoxious. He sends it to voicemail. It starts up again, the same number flashing on his screen.</p><p>He frowns, still only half awake, but slightly worried now. What if something’s happened to his mom or sister?</p><p>He answers, heartbeat in his throat, fearing the worst. “Hello?” he asks tentatively.</p><p>“Jeff,” a voice cracks through the speakers, the tinny sound quality not lessening the inflection.</p><p>“Kent,” he breathes back into the speaker.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
<li>it's the epikegster- idk what to tell you, Kent &amp; Jack are not nice to each other here</li>
<li>canon-typical(?) alcohol abuse</li>
<li>Kent shows signs of depression</li>
</ol><p>If you thought this hurt your feelings to read- imagine having to write it. I also have no idea if the NHL would actually take a plane from New York to Boston instead of a bus but that's what I went with so I guess in this universe they do.</p><p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year's Eve and stay safe out there folks!</p>
<p>Just as an fyi this chapter backtracks slightly from where 17 leaves off- and by slightly, I mean you see the lead up to why Kent ends up calling Jeff. Which I wrote because I wanted a cliffhanger there. </p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kent loses his game point streak not long after their return from the east coast roadie. The Schooners have a shutout which would be bad enough, but what makes it worse is that they’re in the home arena when it happens. He hates losing in general, but losing at home via a shutout is at least ten times worse. The fact that he gets pulled for media because he’s the captain doesn’t make anything better.</p>
<p>They ask him the usual questions, like how does it feel to have a new personal record for his game point streak? How does he feel about the loss tonight? And what’s the plan going forward? He answers: Great, wish it’d been longer, disappointed but ready to move on into the next game, and to focus on their PK. </p>
<p>But just when he thinks it’s all over, a fresh face in the crowd asks after Jack. He wills his face to remain impassive. PR hadn’t been overly ecstatic that he’d spent his offday in Boston making the rounds at a college party, but the images that had surfaced online hadn’t been particularly damning so they had mostly let it slide. Management had been more interested in whether or not Jack had been receptive to the idea of an offer from them. He repeats the same answer he gave to management to the reporters. </p>
<p>“He’s entertaining multiple offers currently and hasn’t made his mind up yet.” He flashes a smile, hears the click of a camera somewhere, knows that at least part of this is being live streamed.</p>
<p>He only deflates when the cameras finally leave. He falls into the sounds of the team getting out of their gear and heading to the showers. Jack’s words keep rattling around his head, slipping past the cracks in his defenses, settling into the dark corners that he’s been avoiding since even before the draft. It leaves him feeling raw and scraped open, like a scab that’s been picked at one too many times.</p>
<p>“Fucking LA,” he mutters to himself. He doesn’t think that’s where Jack will end up. Probably too close to Kent for Jack’s liking, he screws his face up at that, but the fact that he was so quick to lie and use that team as an example feels like a kick to his stomach. The idea of him joining the falconers honestly feels more accurate, close enough that his college team can still visit and not nearly as much pressure as joining one of the original six. Plus after their game seven exit in round two of the eastern conference this past season he wouldn’t be surprised if the team managed to make it to the final in a year or two.</p>
<p>He looks up, Scraps is staring at him with an indecipherable look on his face. Kent ducks his head. Scraps hasn’t been really going out of his way to check on him which Kent’s been chalking up to providing proof that he actually visited his family after he said he would. But Kent’s family hadn’t been able to make it to their game against the Rangers and then the whole debacle with him dipping directly after to go to Jack’s college while in Boston. He can see the cause for concern.</p>
<p>Doesn’t mean he has to like it.</p>
<p>“You okay?”</p>
<p>Kent looks up noting that Scraps is now standing over him, hovering delicately in direct contrast to his overall demeanor. He glances up through his eyelashes, direct eye contact not conducive to his decision to lie.</p>
<p>“Just peachy.”</p>
<p>Kent can tell that Scraps isn’t convinced. Particularly because he continues to hover even as they separate to go to their respective cars. But he has plans to work his way through some shit tonight, mostly by getting drunk, but that’s at his discretion. If anybody asks he’s already planning to say that it’s a celebration of his now dead game point streak. Not that anybody will ask, because he has enough alcohol in his home to drink himself stupid and he won’t even have to show his face in public to drown his sorrows.</p><hr/>
<p>In hindsight, he probably should’ve paced himself better. Just because the party opened up the dam to allow himself to drink again doesn’t mean his tolerance miraculously followed suit. Plus, at the party he’d only had beer, and downing orange juice with vodka to hide the aftertaste is a little bit different.</p>
<p>Which is probably how he ends up curled up around the sweatshirt Jeff had lent him the night before he won the Stanley cup. He hasn’t worn it since, mostly worried the magic will be lost if he wears it outside the night of a potential final game in the playoffs. But tonight of all nights he feels lost and in dire need of an anchor. </p>
<p>Jeff’s scent is still entrenched in it, only slightly musty since Kent had shoved it in the back of a closet not wanting it to get washed by accident. He clutches to it tightly, feeling particularly weepy and too far gone to really be embarrassed by that fact. But then he feels bad because what if Jeff wants his sweatshirt back? What if he thinks Kent’s a creep for holding onto it for months even after they stopped hooking up?</p>
<p>He blinks his eyes open slowly, a cold realization slowly settling over him. He needs to get this back to Jeff ASAP.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent’s normally pretty good at remembering things. Had to be if he wanted to keep up with Jack. And while he never had an affinity for school subjects, he’s kept up on his habit of memorizing stats of current NHL players. Recites them at night when he can’t sleep and his eyes are too dry from watching tape already. He does not, however, remember where Jeff lives.</p>
<p>He thinks he could maybe find the address if he went far enough up into their text thread, but the words are kind of swimming in front of his eyes and it’s taking a while to load so he ends up giving up pretty quickly. But maybe he can go to his place of work? It’ll help keep a professional atmosphere and he won’t be tempted to do something dumb, like jump Jeff in front of the other patrons.</p>
<p>If he was in a more clear-headed state of mind he would probably be a little ashamed of how quickly he’s able to order somebody to come pick him up via an app this far into his drunken stupor. The driver luckily seems completely unperturbed by his state of unravel. Just laughs and asks if he got a little too into his pre-gaming.</p>
<p>Kent glances at his phone. It’s nearly 3 am. He feels like that would be a little late to start pre-gaming, especially when his drinking was done quite literally post-game. But he just nods distractedly instead, grabbing the bill of his hat and shoving it further down on his head, hoping that the driver will continue to not recognize him. He’s currently wearing the sweatshirt Jeff gave him, otherwise he’d ball that up and hold it close, but as it is he shrinks further into it and tries to concentrate on the calming scent it emanates.</p><hr/>
<p>It’s probably a good thing the driver doesn’t recognize him. If only because the second he stumbles out of the car he realizes something is terribly wrong. For starters, it’s dark inside the building. Which, he taps the screen on his phone, right, 3 am. He probably should’ve thought this through a little bit more. Maybe there’s a place he can drop this off and leave for him? That way he won’t have to even deal with the emotional turmoil that would be caused by seeing Jeff in person.</p>
<p>But on closer inspection a terrible sinking sensation takes form in the pit of his stomach. The coffee shop is closed. It’s being replaced by some juice shop, which if he was sober he might find himself interested in, but he’s not. He’s a little cold even with the sweatshirt on and a lot strung out regardless, so he just breaks down instead. </p>
<p>It’s just, everything’s changing and what he wouldn’t give for some comfort. He doesn’t even fully think about his actions as he runs through the motions, digging deep into the recesses of his text threads for the one with Jeff. He hates how his heart pangs at the last one sent saying he can head out to meet him at the coffee shop. The irony of him being here and it being closed now isn’t lost on him in the slightest. </p>
<p>He doesn’t think, just hits the call button. He might’ve deleted the number from his contacts, but he was too much of a masochist to delete him from his memory. So the messages stayed. </p>
<p>It goes to voicemail.</p>
<p>He can feel himself getting hysterical. He hits the call button again because he desperately needs to at least make plans to give the sweatshirt back. Even if Jeff doesn’t want to see him again, he can mail it back or something. Or drop it off somewhere. Maybe not where Jeff lives. For all he knows, Jeff’s moved in with his new boyfriend who’s decidedly not Kent.</p>
<p>He cries until he can’t breathe on the sidewalk as the call goes to voicemail quicker this time. Automatically he pushes the call button again. It might not be his best idea to date, but it’s the only one he has currently, so it’s what he does.</p>
<p>He snaps back into himself when the call connects. “Jeff,” he breathes into the phone, half question, half plea.</p>
<p>“Kent.”</p><hr/>
<p>Jeff doesn’t drive. Or not exactly that, but he hasn’t driven in a long time. Technically doesn’t even have a car in his name, even though Birdie has told him time and time again that he’s always welcome to take hers.</p>
<p>He’s not so much afraid of the fact that he’ll die, but that he’ll be the one in control when somebody else does. He still has nightmares from when he was in the passenger seat when the car was t-boned. His injuries might’ve mostly faded, but losing his dad caused irreversible damage. He’s not sure he could handle somebody else dying or getting injured while he’s in the driver’s seat.</p>
<p>The fact still stands though, that Kent’s sniffling into his ear telling him that he’s outside of the coffee shop that Jeff used to work at, mumbling something about pressed juice and a sweatshirt and that he just really needs to see Jeff soon. And if Jeff’s a little weak and asks him if now is good, well, it is what it is. He hangs up when Kent confirms that it is, but only after telling him to stay where he is so that Jeff can find him quickly.</p>
<p>Birdie’s asleep if the quiet of the apartment is anything to go by, either that or out on a hook up. Regardless he’s not interested in interrupting her so he leaves a note on the fridge.</p>
<p><i>Taking the car</i>, he writes in his signature mess of a scrawl. He presses the sticky note a little too firmly against the cool surface. He recognizes he’s a little too jittery right now, his hands shaking as he goes to grab the car keys from the hook by the garage door.</p>
<p>He figures it’s probably okay that he feels that way. He hasn’t driven in a while, but he has GPS on his phone and he’s heard driving’s like riding a bike. Not that he knows how to ride a bike, but the sentiment remains.</p>
<p>He opens the garage door, slowly backs out, quickly realizes that all the mirrors are wrong and embarrassed puts the car in park to fix them. He closes the garage door shortly after that and pulls out on the street, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.</p>
<p><i>At least it’s not raining</i>, he thinks a little frantically.</p><hr/>
<p>Jeff’s not sure what he’s expecting when he pulls up on the street outside of his old place of work, but Kent looking more gaunt than not and swimming in his old sweatshirt from the Q is not it. Something hot and possessive burns in his stomach when he realizes that it’s his name and number laid out on Kent’s back.</p>
<p>He’s a terrible person.</p>
<p>He parks illegally, figuring that it’ll be a max of sixty seconds to get Kent situated into the car. For all that Kent said he just wanted to meet, Jeff doubts that Kent wants any of this to potentially end up on deadspin. Who knows what else has already happened before Jeff got here, and he’s not about to add to any potential narrative beyond picking up a friend.</p>
<p>He tries to maneuver him to the backseat but Kent refuses, clinging to him until Jeff cedes and opens the passenger’s door instead. If his palms are a little sweaty, well, he hopes that Kent’s a little too drunk to remember that.</p>
<p>He walks around to the driver’s side and when he slides in has to take a minute to just sit and get the nerve to continue. The part after this is where it all went to shit. He just needs to take a deep breath. He can do this. Kent needs him to do this. He’ll do this for him. </p>
<p>He steels himself as he twists to face Kent. “Where are we going?”</p>
<p>Kent blinks up slowly at him, his phone clutched a little too tightly in his hand, but seatbelt done up correctly. “I don’t care,” a pause, then, “just not home.”</p>
<p>Jeff sucks in a sharp intake at the resolution of his tone. It hurts to hear, but at least he knows where Kent stands on the matter of them. He’s not allowed back to Kent’s place of residence. Wonders distantly if he moved and Kent doesn’t want him to know the new address.</p>
<p>He forces himself to speak, “Does the condo work then?”</p>
<p>Kent nods, then turns his focus on something outside of the windshield. Jeff looks up. Nothing’s there. He doesn’t allow himself to feel hurt by that, even though it would be so easy to fall into doing exactly that.</p>
<p>Right, driving, he can do that. He sets the GPS to send him back the way he came and turns the ignition on and pulls back out onto the street. Every car that passes he flinches. There are an unfortunate amount of cars in the city of Vegas. He figures this out when he finds himself perpetually hunched over the wheel, knuckles white against the leather, going 25 miles per hour.</p>
<p>A voice pipes up from his side, dragging him out of his spiraling thoughts. “You okay?”</p>
<p>Jeff nods jerkily, “Just, don’t drive a lot.” He tries to aim for dismissive, like it’s not an issue but he must fail because Kent reacts immediately.</p>
<p>“The accident,” he realizes aloud.</p>
<p>Jeff blinks back tears because that would definitely not be conducive for driving.</p>
<p>“Shit, why are you driving?”</p>
<p>“Because it’s almost 3:30 in the morning and you called me. Public transportation and deadspin might not be the best mix for you right now.” He risks a glance to the side, noting the glassiness of Kent’s eyes.</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of the engine and the noise of the surrounding city. “But why?” he asks, his voice unbelievably small. Jeff glances over again, sees the size that he’s shrunk himself too. The neon lights don’t add much to the pallor of his skin. </p>
<p>And he can’t stop himself, the truth slipping past his lips. “Because that’s what you do for people you love.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet the rest of the ride to the condo.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent’s half asleep when they finally pull into the condo’s driveway. He debates not opening the garage in case it potentially wakes up Birdie, but paranoia sets in. He really doesn’t want Kent to be caught on camera being led through the front door. </p>
<p>He doesn’t let himself breathe properly until the garage door is closed behind them. He pulls off the steering wheel slowly, the leftover waves of anxiety wracking through him. He turns again to look at Kent, whose head is pressed against the window, all but curled up into himself otherwise.</p>
<p>Jeff lets out a shaky breath. Whatever Kent wants to talk to him about, they can do it tomorrow. His next shift isn’t until late, and it’s pretty obvious that Kent needs sleep. They both do, really. Already he can feel the adrenaline seeping out of his body, leaving an exhausted shell behind.</p>
<p>He leans across the center console to place his hand on Kent’s shoulder. Kent startles awake at the touch. “Hey, we’re here.”</p>
<p>Kent nods slowly, languid in a way that only comes from a state of slow awareness after a too deep sleep. He fumbles with his buckle and pushes against the car door, stumbling out on his own. Jeff follows suit, walking around quickly to help steady Kent on his feet. He sincerely doubts that Kent’s sober right now and he’s not about to let him trip over his own feet trying to get into the condo.</p>
<p>Kent lists into his side as he helps him walk up the stairs. He clings to him as he closes the door into the condo behind them and sets the keys back down onto the hook by the door. Jeff has to all but drag him into his bedroom with how Kent refuses to move his face anywhere beyond smushed directly into his chest.</p>
<p>Jeff sits him down on the bed and goes to work removing his shoes, only sparing a glance up at his reddened lips. He darts his gaze away quickly because he refuses to have those thoughts right now.</p>
<p>Kent wriggles his toes through his socks like he’s seeing them for the first time. He yawns. “I’m tired.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I bet you are,” Jeff replies easily, patting his knee with one hand while simultaneously using it to push himself up off the floor.</p>
<p>“I want to sleep,” he says petulantly, like he expects Jeff to argue.</p>
<p>Jeff just shrugs, “Bed’s yours.”</p>
<p>Kent makes a punched out sound at that but then moves around until he can flop back onto the pillows. “Feels nice,” he slurs.</p>
<p>Jeff smiles before grabbing his comforter and bringing it up around his shoulders and tucking him in. Kent makes a pleased sound wriggling around underneath it. </p>
<p>“Cozy,” he murmurs, his eyelids fluttering shut.</p>
<p>Jeff can’t help it when he leans forward to press his lips against his forehead. Kent’s eyes blink open again as if he wasn’t expecting that. “Jeff,” he breathes out.</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“Did you mean it?”</p>
<p>“Mean what?”</p>
<p>“In the car when you said that. Did you mean it?”</p>
<p>And Jeff didn’t really speak in the car. Couldn’t even bring himself to turn on the radio out of fear that it would distract him. They’d had a grand total of one back and forth before Jeff had spent the rest of it white-knuckling it the entire way back. And he’s not going to pretend like he doesn’t know exactly what Kent’s talking about so he just nods. “Yeah, I meant it.”</p>
<p>Kent furrows his brow at that and Jeff takes that as his cue to leave. No point in staying where he’s not wanted. He’ll take the couch for the night, they can wake up and discuss whatever Kent wanted to and that’ll be that. Hopefully he’ll finally be able to move on after this.</p>
<p>“Jeff.” Kent’s voice sounds small when he finally does speak. He stops at the doorway.</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“If you meant it, why aren’t you staying?” He sounds devastated, like Jeff not staying is the worst possible thing that could happen to him. And well, Jeff’s never denied that he’s a coward, wimp, idiot, masochist, or even possessive. He doesn’t hesitate to add weak to the list.</p>
<p>He closes the door behind him as he turns back to the bed. Better to keep the world out with. Shucking his shoes off he slips into the bed next to Kent, only worrying about covering his bottom half with part of the comforter.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t sure you wanted me to,” he whispers into the dark between them.</p>
<p>Kent stares at him before he responds, “Always.”</p>
<p>Jeff feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s so close to what he wants that just gives in. He slings his arm around Kent and presses their foreheads together. They’ll figure it out in the morning.</p><hr/>
<p>When Kent wakes in the morning, it’s to the taste of cotton in his mouth like the last thing he drank was the surrounding desert sand and a headache pounding deep within the recesses of his brain. It’s also to the sleeping face of Jeff whose relaxed features he’s missed waking up to. </p>
<p>Immediately panic grips him.</p>
<p>He takes a moment to catalogue everything, from how he’s definitely still wearing Jeff’s sweatshirt (terribly embarrassing) and how Jeff’s currently holding him pressed up against his chest like he means something to him (terribly comforting) and how even hair rumpled and unshaved he looks attractive (terribly arousing). He hopes that added all together that means they didn’t have sex last night. </p>
<p>Even if he wasn’t terrified of Jeff’s boyfriend, (because even if it’s not the other guy from the coffee shop there’s no way he’s stayed single since they stopped seeing each other because Jeff’s definitely a catch), he really doesn’t want their first time back together having been while he was too drunk to remember it. And he definitely doesn’t remember anything about last night beyond deciding to get drunk, apparently doing just that, and waking up here.</p>
<p>Fuck, he’s probably going to have google his name later to make sure he didn’t do something really fucking dumb. He gulps, PR’s going to kill him if he has.</p>
<p>Slowly he extracts himself from Jeff, holding his breath when Jeff grumbles something. He only lets himself breathe when it’s obvious that Jeff hasn’t woken up. He carefully slips into his shoes that are luckily right by his side of the bed. He doesn’t let himself think about how it’s not really <i>his</i> side and how the pang that his heart makes settles a little too heavily over him.</p>
<p>He slips into the bathroom to check for any other indicators of what might’ve happened the night previous. He comes up blank, but takes note of the sweatshirt. A niggling feeling at the back of his head pings incessantly. </p>
<p>Jeff’s sweatshirt? Did he want to give it back? Maybe. It’s a little too hard to think right now so he doesn’t try to follow that line of thought too far down the line. He pulls it off of him, folding it as he goes before placing it on the edge of the counter.</p>
<p>Pulling his phone out of his back pocket he finds that it blessedly still has battery left. Not a ton, but enough to allow him to order a ride back without having to wake Jeff up and face an awkward conversation over him having to borrow a charger.</p>
<p>He’s only slightly embarrassed by the fact that he knows his way through his former fuck buddy’s place of residence, even with only the pale light to guide him through. He shivers when he steps outside, the clouds above promising rain as he punches in his address hoping that there’s a car nearby. He really doesn’t want to spend too long out here, both because a deluge could occur at any moment and also because the longer he stays here the more likely Jeff is to wake up and notice him gone. </p>
<p>He refuses to be here for that.</p>
<p>He’s shaking from the cold, teeth chattering even as he tries to bite his lip to make it stop, when the driver finally shows up. He knows it’s dumb, that his blood shouldn’t be this thin since he grew up in the North East, but he’s also aware that he’s gotten soft living in the dry heat for so long.</p>
<p>The driver, at least, doesn’t even spare him a glance as he clambers into the backseat. But it’s not until they leave the street the condo’s on and he can’t see it anymore does he breathe easier.</p>
<p>He feels like he just got away with something, but he’s not sure why he feels so shitty if that’s the case.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>Kent's definitely in the throes of depression</li>
<li>Heavy misuse of self-medicating with alcohol</li>
</ol>
<p>When I tagged this a miscommunication used as a plot device I wasn't joking. But also- on the bright side I've been coping with the editing of all this angst by writing lighter one-shots that occur later in the verse. So, you can expect those to be added eventually in the format of a series after this is all over. Technically it's just one right now but I do have some more planned out before I jump into a different verse for this pairing that I've also outlined a fic for.</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know what to say here- anything I would say I'd end up spoiling the chapter. So, I guess enjoy?</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff wakes up slowly and notes the too still air surrounding him. Kent’s not next to him. Which could just mean that he’s somewhere else in the condo, but the light in the bathroom’s dim and there’s no sound coming from the kitchen. Instinctively he knows that Kent’s left.</p>
<p>He lays there for a while longer, lets the hurt sit with him and tries to bury it deep until he can at least breathe. He slides out of bed, purposely not looking at the side Kent had fallen into the night previous, too afraid the shoes will be gone. Until he’s searched every nook and cranny of the condo he can’t be certain Kent's actually left. Which leaves him with a sense of hope at least, but as soon as he does, he’ll know for certain that he’s gone. </p>
<p>Schrödinger’s Kent.</p>
<p>He’s not sure which will hurt worse, the dragging out the truth, or the certainty found in the answer. His stomach drops when he enters the bathroom. His sweatshirt is neatly folded and placed expertly at the edge of the counter. A farewell gift and a reminder from Kent to Jeff that they were never anything.</p>
<p>He holds it against his chest, tries to remember Kent wearing it and how close it was to everything he wanted. He wonders if that was a gift in and of itself. Beyond that he doesn’t dwell on how Kent acted the night previous. He was probably too drunk to think straight and was embarrassed by how he acted the night previous. Might’ve even confused him with Jack by the time he was curled up in his bed. And then in the morning, in lieu of having to let Jeff down easy, just dipped to save them all the trouble.</p>
<p>Still, he pulls the sweatshirt on over his head. It’s comforting in ways that remind him of before. Before Kent, before the accident, before Daniel. If he catches Kent’s faint scent intermingled with his own in the fabric, well, nobody has to know.</p>
<p>He turns back to his bedroom door, left wide open. He has half a thought about the world being let in but continues through to the kitchen. His heart that’s been sitting low and heavy in his stomach since he’s woken up rockets up towards his throat when he notices Birdie sitting at the kitchen table. He stops in the threshold.</p>
<p>She has a large mug of what he assumes to be tea sitting in front of her, hands surrounding it as though it’s been sitting awhile and is no longer scorching. If he visibly swallows when he notices the sticky note laid in front of the mug, well, he hopes that she won’t mention it.</p>
<p>“Is there something you would like to discuss?”</p>
<p>Which, that on its own feels like a loaded question. Does he really want to get into how he purposely broke his own heart for the sake of Kent, only to have him call after months outside of his former workplace, wherein he took the car to rescue him even though he doesn’t drive which ended in him confessing his feelings and them falling into bed non-sexually? Not particularly. Does he really have a choice seeing as it’s Birdie who’s asking? Probably not.</p>
<p>He settles into the chair across from her and wishes he had a mug of his own so he could have something for his hands to fiddle with. “Uh, I took the car last night.”</p>
<p>She lifts the mug up and takes a sip of it slowly. “I noticed,” she responds easily, setting it back down on the wooden grain.</p>
<p>“It probably won’t happen again?” he says after a beat of silence that drags on too long, but the fact that he’s not super confident in his answer is more than likely evident. </p>
<p>Birdie raises an eyebrow and takes another sip but doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“Was there-, was there something else you wanted?” he manages to stutter out, not enjoying the feeling of being cowed that takes over him.</p>
<p>“Oh nothing, I was just surprised is all. Because we’ve been living together what, five years now?”</p>
<p>“Six,” he corrects her automatically.</p>
<p>She nods her head thoughtfully, “Six years, and you’ve never once wanted to take the car.”</p>
<p>“I still have my license,” he spits out defensively. He doesn’t mean to sound so vehement, but she’s getting a little too close to something that he just really doesn’t want to touch with a 10 foot pole right now.</p>
<p>A smirk plays across her face. She brings the mug back up to her face. “I never said you didn’t,” she responds into her tea. She sets it back down. “In fact, that’s why I kept offering it to you. Figured you’d either use it to tide you over until you could afford a car of your own or we’d just split the upkeep costs. And yet, you’ve never used it.”</p>
<p>“Until last night,” he reminds her.</p>
<p>The look she shoots him is withering. He realizes he’s made a mistake half a beat too late. Fuck.</p>
<p>“Yes, exactly. Now why is that?”</p>
<p>He holds back a groan, he’s not exactly sure he’s ready to admit why he took the car last night. But he’s also pretty sure he doesn’t have a choice. Birdie’s incredibly perceptive and extremely nosy, if she wants the truth, she’ll find it one way or another.</p>
<p>“I might’ve picked up Ke-,” he pauses, face aflame at the realization that he almost said Kent’s name. “I might’ve picked up my,” he starts again before he catches himself. The final word in that sentence would’ve been ex, and Kent had made that abundantly clear last night that that’s exactly not what they ever were. “My former friend with benefits.”</p>
<p>“Your former fuck buddy?” she reiterates.</p>
<p>He doesn’t choke on anything at her crass language, mostly because he doesn’t have anything in his mouth to choke on.</p>
<p>“Yeah, him.”</p>
<p>“And Jeff, why is that?”</p>
<p>“He called me drunk with nowhere else to go,” he mumbles, tracing the patterns on the table.</p>
<p>“What was that?”</p>
<p>“He called me drunk with nowhere else to go,” he repeats louder this time. He’s still not actually sure why Kent called him of all people last night, but it’s the best reason he can come up with while Birdie stares him down across the way.</p>
<p>Both her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Oh really?”</p>
<p>He just nods in response.</p>
<p>“And yet he’s not here this morning.”</p>
<p>Jeff glances down at his sweatshirt. Yeah, he’d already known, but the truth of the matter still slams into him like a freight train.</p>
<p>“Looks to be that way,” he finally replies.</p>
<p>They’re both silent for a while.</p>
<p>“Kid?” Birdie finally speaks up.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“You should get out of town for the holidays. Get away from all this shit for a while.”</p>
<p>He turns the idea over in his head. Flips it on its side to examine it better. He’s not even sure where he would go. Doesn’t really like the idea of running away yet again. He already ran once, and all he has to show for that is a lost job at a coffee shop, half a share in rent payment every month for this condo, and multiple failed relationships in the form of what used to be a best friend and the now ex-fuck buddy status of an NHL captain.</p>
<p>But, what if he didn’t run? What if he went back to where it all started? Maybe he could fix shit here if he gets at the root of the problem. And even if he can’t, at least he’ll know he’s tried. He owes himself that much he supposes.</p>
<p>He feels his jaw harden as resolution settles over him. Emboldened by the sweatshirt and the night previous, he brings his gaze level with Birdie’s. </p>
<p>“I haven’t gone home in a while,” he hedges.</p>
<p>“You haven’t,” Birdie agrees.</p>
<p>“I think I might.”</p>
<p>Birdie brings the mug back up to her lips and sips. “That sounds lovely.” Her grin that reaches her eyes confirms his decision.</p>
<p>He’s going home.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent’s late leaving a meeting with management and the coaching staff. He’s been hiding from them since the debacle that was blacking out and waking up next to Jeff. If his smile is a little forced and he flinches every time somebody calls his name because he’s terrified that they’re going to be the one to finally break it to him that he ended up on deadspin, well, he’s been acting weird for a while so nobody seems to notice.</p>
<p>He only lets himself breathe again when he’s finally turned a corner away from the heavily padded offices that house those that more often than not hold his future in their hands. Or in the paperwork at least. He’s so close to a no movement clause that he can taste it. Not that he’s particularly holding out for it or anything, everything feels up in the air, especially with the looks he’s been on the receiving end of on the ice lately. Maybe if he’d stop drinking just to take the edge off he wouldn’t stagger in quite as haggard, but he still has decent play ideas and management hasn’t caught wind of him being gay so it’s going better than the worst case scenario.</p>
<p>Not that that’s saying much, of course.</p>
<p>In the end the meeting had started with them asking his opinion on making the center call up a new A. He’d hated that he didn’t really know him well enough to give an opinion, instead acting as though he needed to get Scraps’ opinion on the decision before making the final call. They’d ended up nodding their heads with an intensity he often only found across from him in a face-off. He’d thought that’d be that, but then they wanted to know more in depth about what had happened with Jack and he’d had to spend the next hour and a half spinning a story that only made sense if you weren’t actually listening.</p>
<p>Hence his leaving the meeting late.</p>
<p>Still they must’ve bought it because they’d been smiling when he’d finished. They’d told him he’d done a good job and thanked him for all the work he’d done with the team. He’d grinned but none of their words really registered. How could they when his meeting with Jack hadn’t originally been about him joining the team at all and ended in what was essentially a screaming match?</p>
<p>If his breathing goes back to shallow intakes the rest of the hallway, that’s between him and the tile.</p>
<p>Something comes screeching around the bend towards him, slamming into his legs and startling him. He wobbles back, but manages to stay upright, having grown used to assholes gunning for him on the ice. A red face sniffles up at him, overgrown black curls and dark eyes completing the picture.</p>
<p>“Hello?” he asks. </p>
<p>He has never been good with children, having never been involved with his sisters’ lives beyond bare minimum exposure. In a distant way he’s thought about being a father but figured that would never happen for a multitude of reasons; mainly the whole being not straight thing and the fact that if his father was a deadbeat, what would that make him? So he has no idea what to do with what is essentially a toddler that has decided he’s for lack of a better word “safe”.</p>
<p>“Oh thank God,” a different voice up ahead says. He looks up and notices a woman coming towards him. She’s wearing a too large sweatshirt and stands multiple inches shorter than him, but swoops in to bring the toddler closer into her arms.</p>
<p>She fusses over the girl some more. “Are you alright sweetheart?” she asks, her accent not one he can easily place.</p>
<p>The girl nods, “Yeah, Mama.” </p>
<p>The woman continues speaking. “Now what did we say about strangers?”</p>
<p>“Not to go to ‘em,” the girl replies excitedly, before becoming subdued at the sudden realization of what she’s done.</p>
<p>“That’s right. Not everyone is going to be as nice as this young-”</p>
<p>“Kent,” he cuts in, “It’s Kent.”</p>
<p>She levels him with a glare. He gulps.</p>
<p>“Right, not everyone is going to be as nice as Kent. Now what do we say?”</p>
<p>“Thank you?” the girl asks confusedly.</p>
<p>The woman nods, “That’s right. And what else?”</p>
<p>“Buh-bye.”</p>
<p>“That’s right, Alanna.”</p>
<p>She turns around without saying anything else to him, leaving him blindsided and slightly in awe under fluorescent lighting.</p><hr/>
<p>He’s early this time, not to practice seeing as everyone else is taking advantage of their day off, but to his ice time. He probably should be resting, but if he stays at home then he’s far more likely to spiral, so the ice it is. </p>
<p>She’s on the ice this time, with a gaggle of other women, all within their twenties as well. It hits him then, the team had started some dancing showgirl routine for in-between periods to pay homage to Vegas this season. For a multitude of reasons he hadn’t been paying particular attention to anything outside of tape and his personal shortcomings so he’d kind of forgotten about them becoming a thing this season. Besides, the in-between periods were normally meant for him to rally the troops and come up with a game plan for the next period while somehow finding time to take a breather as well.</p>
<p>Also, he’s like really gay, so, it’s not like he’s super interested in women dressed up scantily.</p>
<p>He smiles at the girls as they make their way off the ice as their time comes to a close. They eye him warily and he forces himself not to frown. He definitely doesn’t let himself think that they might possibly know that he’s not straight, and that they’re all judging him for it.</p>
<p>The woman from before with the girl stares him down stonily as she’s the last one off the ice.</p>
<p>“How’s your kid?” he asks before he can stop himself. </p>
<p>He’s already hated by what’s seeming to be a growing number every day and he’d really like just one person to not be added to that list. </p>
<p>The squabble of voices behind him goes silent. The only sound remaining being the hum of the air conditioners working to keep the rink cool in the desert sun. </p>
<p>“Your kid?” somebody inquires.</p>
<p>“Cousin’s,” she grits out, staring Kent down.</p>
<p>He highly doubts that it’s anything but her kid, but he’s also not about to call her out. He’s also not that obtuse, he can tell that that was definitely supposed to remain a secret.</p>
<p>“Sorry, my mistake,” he quickly recovers. “How’s your cousin’s kid?”</p>
<p>“With her mother,” her tone remains icy.</p>
<p>Which sure, Kent’s aware that that’s a fucking lie but everyone has their thing. He’s definitely into women and she’s definitely not the spitting image of her daughter. </p>
<p>He shrugs, trying to remain nonchalant for the both of them. He has a feeling that he’s walking a precarious tightrope and the wrong thing said here will fuck over the both of them. “Well have a good day,” he pauses, realizing a little too late that he doesn’t know her name.</p>
<p>“It’s Carmen,” she responds loftily, jerking her head up. </p>
<p>He thinks she’d be considered pretty by societal standards, but also he’s never been particularly good at paying attention to them. But she has dark eyes that when lit up, might not be nearly as terrifying and thick, liquid jet-black hair falling down her back, even as it’s tied up. Still he’s definitely intimidated by the hard set of her jaw and the defensive stance she’s since taken up so really it's a toss up.</p>
<p>“Right,” he replies before walking past her to get onto the ice. If she doesn’t want to admit that she has a daughter that’s quite frankly none of his business.</p><hr/>
<p>Or at least it’s none of his business right up until she corners him as he’s the last to leave practice. He has his gear bag thrown over his shoulder and is currently debating which poison he’ll be drowning himself in tonight when he notices her a little too late.</p>
<p>She pushes him back because he’s accidentally walked directly into her space. </p>
<p>“You fucker,” she starts.</p>
<p>And while he has a feeling that they’re definitely not going to be on the same page about whatever it is, he takes the brunt of the blow. He certainly feels like he deserves that even if what she’s yelling at him for is not exactly what he’s feeling shitty about.</p>
<p>He stumbles backwards into the hallway wall.</p>
<p>“How dare you come into our fucking practice and almost make me lose my position by A) talking to me and B) about the kid.”</p>
<p>He blinks, glances down at her manicured hand pressed against his chest, and then back up again at her face.</p>
<p>“I-”</p>
<p>“No, don’t even fucking start. I need this job. Sure it doesn’t make nearly as much as tips some nights waitressing, but it’s steady and the players aren’t allowed to fuck with us.”</p>
<p>He furrows his brow. If he’d known that, he wouldn’t have said anything to them on the ice at all. God, what has he missed while in a haze this season?</p>
<p>“Until you. And then you had to go and fucking bring up,” she drops her voice, “my daughter.”</p>
<p>He blinks again, the puzzle slowly forming inside his mind. “Are you like, not supposed to have a kid?” he asks quietly.</p>
<p>“No of course not asshole,” she hisses. “It ruins the illusion of being hot, young and attainable.”</p>
<p>He tilts his head to the side, confused as to why she brought her kid to the rink that day then. He also absolutely does not mention that there’s at least a couple players on the team who would lose their shit over a potential partner having a kid. Not him, of course, but at least three come to mind.</p>
<p>“My babysitter canceled last minute. Claimed she was my cousin’s kid who’s babysitter canceled last minute. She stayed in the stands with coloring books the entire time. It was fine.” There’s a hint of pride tinging her words.</p>
<p>Kent nods slowly. Well, if she wants him to stay away and not mention the kid then it’s no skin off his nose. He can keep a secret, if the fact that he hasn’t managed to out himself in the NHL is anything to go off of at least.</p>
<p>She stares at him, saying nothing. He shrugs and sidesteps her. He has plans to get at least slightly tipsy tonight and wallow in self-pity and the sooner he does that the sooner he can pass out. Which sounds fantastic so he starts heading towards the exit.</p>
<p>“Hey asshole!” she calls again.</p>
<p>He turns around. He lets out a deep sigh. He really thought they were over this. “Yes?” he asks, exhaustion settling over him.</p>
<p>She stomps forward. “You’re not going to try and hold this over me, are you?” she asks, gritting her teeth and snapping her words. “You’re not going to like blackmail me or anything, right?”</p>
<p>Kent winces before sucking in a breath at the memory of Jeff telling him about almost being purposely outed. He doesn’t fault her for her caution. He places both his hands on her shoulders to force her to look into his eyes.</p>
<p>“I need you to know that I would never do that,” he tries to muster up as much sincerity as he can portray. </p>
<p>She doesn’t look convinced. Wriggling out from his hold she turns her back to him. “Sure, like I haven’t heard that one before.”</p>
<p>The venom doesn’t surprise him, but what he does next does. He grabs one of her arms to wheel her around. “No,” he begins, “you don’t get it. I’m like so gay,” he admits in frustration, “and I would never want somebody to out me. I mean I knew somebody who almost was and that was shit enough. I can’t imagine telling anybody anything that wasn’t theirs to know.”</p>
<p>They both stare at each other. Shock’s apparent on her face. It doesn’t sink in for another moment what he’s done. </p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>Kent's definitely in the throes of depression</li>
<li>Heavy misuse of self-medicating with alcohol</li>
</ol>
<p>Guess where I got the kid's name from in the comments. Also if you thought the other cliffhangers were bad- this one doesn't even get resolved next chapter. Although I am particularly fond of what happens next chapter regardless. So, you win some, you lose some.</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, for everyone who wanted a Christmas moment with Jeff's family- Merry belated Christmas in that regard. </p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff’s mother, to her credit, doesn’t say anything that shows off her surprise at him showing up the day before Christmas completely unannounced. She just stares at him bundled up against the blustering wind, standing on his childhood home’s front porch for a split second before ushering him in. She unwinds the scarf from around his neck and tuts at him for going soft in the Arizona sun. He quietly informs her that he lives in Nevada. She chastises him lightly for the correction, but her fingers remain steady as she works to unbutton his herringbone winter jacket. </p>
<p>He slips out of it and hangs it on the bannister post in the entrance hallway, the scarf and toque joining not long after. The bag he’s been clutching since the airport falling next to the cream carpet of the stairs.</p>
<p>He turns to her, unsure of what to say, only to have her hug him. She doesn’t say anything, the two of them just standing there swaying slightly. He’s pretty sure he hears her sniffle, but neither mention it when she finally pulls away.</p>
<p>“Your bedroom should have clean sheets if you wanted to sleep there,” she says at last, her voice cracking. “Unless you have a hotel?”</p>
<p>Which, he absolutely does not have a hotel, so the fact that his childhood bedroom hasn’t been transformed into a craft room is probably a good thing. Especially since he doesn’t really have the money to shell out for a hotel room. He might be able to swing it if he asked Birdie for leniency on rent in January, but he doesn’t really enjoy the thought of doing that, let alone actually following through. Him having to quit his job to make this trip work meant that draining what was left in his account might not be the best idea in the long run.</p>
<p>“No hotel,” he confirms.</p>
<p>Her smile is blinding.</p><hr/>
<p>Stepping into his bedroom feels like stepping into a portal back in time. Nothing’s changed. Or at least, nothing that he can tell has changed. Medals from his years of skating still hang in a row on his wall, the posters remain half peeled (although he has half a mind to peel the rest of Bad Bob’s poster off as a final fuck you to his son, because while yes, he knows he shouldn’t, he definitely still has a thing for Kent, which is like the whole reason for him getting out of Vegas in the first place), and the sheets on his bed are the same dark blue. The gray comforter even has the same mustard yellow stain from the time he snuck corn dogs into his bedroom late at night and spilled it everywhere. He’ll be forever grateful that his parents never asked him about it.</p>
<p>He drops his bag at the foot of the bed, before sitting directly on it, worrying about destroying the illusion that his dad will walk in at any moment. He sucks in an unsteady breath and tries not to cry. Situating himself on the bed, he scooches back against the wall, falling onto the pillows. </p>
<p>He dozes and drifts until he dips under. When he awakes, it’s to dim light filtering in from the window and to a hand stroking his hair. He blinks the sleep from his eyes blearily until the person who’s attached to it comes into focus. It’s his mom.</p>
<p>“Dinner’s ready, sweetheart,” she says softly, as though terrified that he’ll disappear right before her eyes. Which, he kind of did last time so she probably has every right to feel that way.</p>
<p>He pushes himself up and swings his legs over the side. “Yeah, I’ll be down. Just give me a sec.”</p>
<p>She nods and goes to leave. She stops at the threshold of the doorway but doesn’t turn back, just making her way back down to the kitchen.</p>
<p>He shoves the palms of his hands against his eyelids. He groans into them because what was he thinking? He’s going to have to see people now and he’s definitely not prepared for that after waking up from a nap. He hadn’t even realized just how exhausted he had been, what with the trying to catch a flight last minute here last minute and all but blowing his savings account in the process. Plus the emotional turmoil Kent had caused him. He sighs, but pushes himself up onto his feet regardless.</p>
<p>It’s time to face the music.</p><hr/>
<p>He’s expecting to be overwhelmed by his cousins, potentially shown around like a pony on a lead as the family fuck up who almost made it but not quite. And yet, he’d handle a million questions from tangentially related family members if that meant he didn’t have to see Daniel. He’s mostly dreading seeing the asshole and having to come up with a decent explanation as to why he hasn’t been around the team in a while and why he has absolutely no idea what Scraps is up to. (And also why he hasn’t kept up with his Russian and a million other questions Daniel’ll end up peppering him with because there’s no doubt he desperately wants to catch him in a lie.)</p>
<p>And maybe he’d be able to handle it if he was more awake. But as it stands, he’s starving and still half asleep, the remnants of his nap staying latched on and sucking up the last reserves of his energy.</p>
<p>But when he heads down, it’s quiet. The dining room table normally used for larger events isn’t even set, wrapping paper strewn over it in an explosion of Christmas. He stares at it confused for a moment before heading towards the kitchen, only to notice that it appears to just be him, his mom, who he assumes is an older and more pregnant version of his sister, and who he imagines is the father of said sister’s child.</p>
<p>His mother’s back is turned to him when he walks in, but his sister’s isn’t. She’s sitting on a swivel chair at the island, hair pulled up away from her face and hand resting on her stomach. Her eyes narrow when she notices him walk in.</p>
<p>“There he is,” she announces a little too loudly. A seething quality to her words making it obvious how she feels about him being here.</p>
<p>The guy standing next to her snorts. His mother doesn’t respond. He feels his face go hot, because yeah he probably deserves that. He hadn’t even known that she was seeing anyone, let alone serious enough to end up pregnant. God, does he have other nieces and nephews? Is he already an uncle? Did he miss her wedding? He hangs his head in shame, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table avoiding eye contact.</p>
<p>“The name’s Drew,” a deep voice from his side declares.</p>
<p>He looks up at the hand held out and shakes it. “Jeff,” he manages to reply in turn even though the gesture feels hollow. What a dick of a brother he was, he hadn’t even been around to give Drew a shovel talk. He tilts his head to the side, is it too late to give it now? He risks a glance back towards his sister. Her glare pierces him and yeah, it’s probably a little too late to give him the shovel talk. Besides, he has a feeling she can handle herself.</p>
<p>“So, no cousins this year?” he hedges trying to see where the conversation will take him. He hates the uncomfortable feeling that’s settled over him since he realized just how out of loop he actually is.</p>
<p>His mother turns around from the stove, “That’s tomorrow, sweetheart,” she replies easily.</p>
<p>He feels his stomach drop out from under him. Right, he wasn’t going to be able to get out of seeing Daniel that easily. He tries to steady his breathing, focusing on the comforting scents in the kitchen and trying to ignore his sister’s heavy gaze that hasn’t left him since he walked into the room. He tries to keep his face impassive but it’s hard when all he can think about is how she could probably give Scraps a run for his money. </p>
<p>Drew’s since moved to lean against some of the counters, looking distinctly over Jeff. He doesn’t say anything and Jeff doesn’t bother to draw him into a conversation. It’s pretty obvious that it’s not his place.</p>
<p>“Are they coming here, or?” he begins.</p>
<p>“Oh no, we’re going to your Aunt Cindy’s house tomorrow,” she replies looking back from the stove all cheer.</p>
<p>He tries his best to force his grimace into something that resembles a smile.</p><hr/>
<p>Dinner is tense at best. His mother keeps attempting small talk and Jeff isn’t really able to answer most of the questions without getting disapproving silence from both his sister and her fiancé, (thank God he didn’t miss her wedding). Plus, some of them he has to evade. For example, is he seeing anyone? Well sure mom, I fucked my way through the playoffs with the NHL captain that led his team to the cup and then fucking Daniel, yes that Daniel, came knocking so I ended it and said NHL captain then proceeded to make it clear on multiple occasions since then that the hooking up meant nothing to him. </p>
<p>Which is just a little bit long-winded so he settles for, “Nothing serious.”</p>
<p>After dinner he offers to do the dishes, working towards completing his penance. The fact that he misses Kent while doing them is just part of the process. His sister sidles up sometime after he washes the colander but before the cast iron pan.</p>
<p>“Yes?” he asks, glancing around and noticing that she’s managed to corner him without Drew or their mother nearby.</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asks, launching into her attack automatically.</p>
<p>He drops the fork he’d been scrubbing back in with the other dirty dishes and sighs. He turns towards her. “What, I can’t come see my family during the holidays, Jenna?” he asks. He knows he shouldn’t allow annoyance to seep into his voice, he doesn’t really have the right after all, but he definitely hadn’t been expecting this level of pushback from his sister of all people. They’d been close before the accident.</p>
<p>“No dickwad,” she pauses as though she’s working to find the right words. She drops her volume when they eventually come to her, “You left and haven’t come back and mom’s been fucked six ways to Sunday since you did your little disappearing act. And then when she’s finally figuring that maybe you don’t want to come home again and she finally moves on from dad and gets a boyfriend that she really, really likes,” she pauses, “So help me God if you try to run him off, you come back.”</p>
<p>He drops the sponge back with the rest of the dishes and dries his hands off methodically. “I didn’t come back to break up mom’s new relationship,” he begins slowly. Sure, he’s a little thrown by the fact that she’s dating someone new, but it’s closer to a decade than not since his dad has died and she deserves that if that’s what she wants. It’s just a lot.</p>
<p>“Then why did you come back?” she hisses accusatorially.</p>
<p>“Because some shit was going on in my life and I figured I might as well go back to where it all began.”</p>
<p>“Oh dramatic, should’ve gone into theatre. Maybe you’d have made it there, unlike your stint at hockey.”</p>
<p>“Oh fuck you, I would’ve been drafted if it weren’t for the accident.”</p>
<p>“Yeah and what about that accident? You left us with the grief and wreckage of it as soon as you could fucking walk,” she pauses. “Asshole,” she finishes.</p>
<p>“There was more to it than just me walking away,” he tries to calmly clamp down on his anger.</p>
<p>“Oh like what?” she sneers.</p>
<p>“I’m gay,” he deadpans, watching his sister’s eyes go wide. “And I was going to be outed for it,” he turns back to the kitchen sink to look out the window overlooking the backyard.</p>
<p>His sister sucks in a breath somewhere from behind him. “By who?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head, he’s in too deep to stop with the confessions now. “Daniel. Daniel caught me hooking up at a party the night of the accident. Wanted part of my ELC when I hit the big times, probably more after that if I proved myself good enough to stay up on the roster. I panicked and called dad and well, you know,” he finishes, dropping his head in shame.</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ, Jeff, you could’ve, like, told us.”</p>
<p>“No I couldn’t have,” he says, turning. “I was already a fuck up for not getting drafted. The only thing I’d ever tried to my hardest to get and I didn’t because I had a fucking panic attack because somebody figured out I wasn’t straight. Jen, I would’ve been eaten alive in those locker rooms. But that’s not even the main point, me explaining why I called for dad would’ve only lent more credence to the fact that the accident was my fault. I had to get out, you have to understand that.”</p>
<p>She must see something in his pleading gaze because she nods her head firmly. “I can’t pretend like I do.” He instantly wilts. “But that’s only because I’ve never gone through anything remotely as traumatizing.”</p>
<p>She opens her arms for a hug and he goes easily. It’s an awkward fit with her stomach between them. He pulls away and realizes that they’re both crying.</p>
<p>“Oh God,” she announces, wiping the tears away from under her eyes. “This is just, Jesus, it’s a lot. It’s like a lot without all the pregnancy hormones. But you always had to be the dramatic one didn’t you?”</p>
<p>He snorts, “Do you know the gender?”</p>
<p>She shakes her head no. No, we wanted to keep it a secret. Mom thinks it’s a girl, Drew’s positive it’s a boy.</p>
<p>“And you?”</p>
<p>“I try not to think about it, because if I do that makes it more real.”</p>
<p>He nods, he understands that.</p>
<p>She drags him back into a hug. She smushes her face against his chest. “There is one silver lining, I suppose,” she says, words muffled by his shirt.</p>
<p>He furrows his brows together, “Oh?”</p>
<p>“Mom fucking hates Aunt Cindy so she’ll probably be super grateful that we never have to pretend to like her casserole ever again.”</p>
<p>He laughs, “So what you’re saying is, is that I just one-upped you for child of the year.”</p>
<p>She pulls back, eyes still wet from tears but laughs nonetheless. “Yeah, I suppose you did.” She leans back against him, pulling him in tighter. “Fucker.”</p>
<p>It’s his turn to laugh.</p><hr/>
<p>When he relays the information to his mother after finishing the dishes, with Jenna at his side this time, he watches her face turn from curious to hardened stone within the course of a couple minutes. Her gaze is murderous when she mutters the next words.</p>
<p>“That bitch.”</p>
<p>Which Jeff feels is a little harsh. He doesn’t really think that his dad’s sister ever did anything to him to insinuate that she’d utilize her son as a tool of blackmail. But then again, he didn’t think Daniel would’ve ever been capable of it either so. </p>
<p>“I’m going to fucking murder her,” she mutters under her breath, a little too vehemently for him to believe she’s discussing things rhetorically. </p>
<p>“I mean that’s illegal,” he points out.</p>
<p>She turns her gaze towards him. “What Daniel did is illegal,” she replies point blank.</p>
<p>He pauses, the realization washing over him. He supposes she’s right. He just had been too worried about anyone finding out about him and the ensuing car accident that he hadn’t thought anything beyond <i>oh fuck</i> and <i>nobody can know</i>. Which, that was probably the point. </p>
<p>It’s probably too late to sue on any grounds, and would likely be a he said, she said case at best. Plus dragging up old wounds and potentially throwing the Aces into the mix (because Daniel’d be dick enough to do it), is just too much. Still, it’s nice to know that his mother believes him and that any future family gatherings will be sans Daniel.</p>
<p>His mom’s since dropped the book she’d been reading in her chair and has taken to pacing as she tries to connect with his Aunt on her cell phone. His sister looks downright gleeful while Drew looks mildly amused. </p>
<p>If he gets drunk to the sound of a shouting match, well, he doesn’t have to wake up early and pretend to give a shit about his Aunt’s weird traditions so another shot of whiskey it is. Plus, his sister can’t drink right now so might as well make it a double.</p><hr/>
<p>He wakes up with a hangover and a feeling of rightness settled over him. He tugs a stuffed penguin he’d gotten as a gag gift years ago when he’d admitted he was gunning for the draft closer towards him. He only rises more completely to the smell of cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. </p>
<p>Tugging on the sweatshirt that had started this trip back home, he feels a pang of sadness that Kent can’t be here. The fact that he can vividly imagine him curved against him as they struggle to fall asleep on a full that’s pressed against his bedroom’s wall is disconcerting to say the least.</p>
<p>He stumbles downstairs and stirs morosely at the coffee that his mother places in front of him with a kiss to his forehead. His sister’s moving bacon around in a pan when she catches sight of his face. Drew’s nowhere to be seen, but he figures that probably has something to do with the shots they kept egging each other on into taking.</p>
<p>“Hangover or you just always this sad bud?”</p>
<p>He shrugs, “Little of both to be honest.”</p>
<p>Both his sister and mother stop what they’re doing. “Are you okay?” his mom finally asks.</p>
<p>He tries not to cry, mostly because he knows that it’ll only make his headache worse. God what he wouldn’t give for an ibuprofen right now. It doesn’t stop him from breaking down when his mom comes around to lay a hand on his shoulder. He stares into the cup of his coffee, catching a glimpse of his reflection in it. <i>Fuck it</i>, he thinks.</p>
<p>“No, fuck, it’s just, remember when you asked if I was seeing anyone?”</p>
<p>It’s silent.</p>
<p>“I mean I technically was but then Daniel came and I was worried about potentially outing that person so I ended it.”</p>
<p>“You broke up with somebody to protect them?” she asks incredulously.</p>
<p>“Uh,” he begins.</p>
<p>Jenna snorts from somewhere, “Let me guess- you were just fuck buddies?”</p>
<p>He feels his face go beet red.</p>
<p>“Jenna!” his mother exclaims.</p>
<p>“What? If it’s not true I’ll apologize but I doubt I'm wrong.”</p>
<p>He swallows visibly. “I mean, yeah, she’s not wrong. It ended out working out for the best, he wasn’t interested in a real relationship anyway.”</p>
<p>Kent’s gaunt figure still haunts Jeff at night sometimes. He’d rather not get super into the details right now though.</p>
<p>His mother huffs. “Well, you’re an adult. So I’m not going to tell you what to do. But I think with everything you’ve told me, maybe you should look into therapy when you go back home.”</p>
<p>He turns his head to her in disbelief. “Oh sweetheart, I don’t pretend to think this is still your home.”</p>
<p>He goes to open his mouth.</p>
<p>She shakes her head. “No, I’m not saying you can’t come back here. I’m just saying you’ve been gone for a while now. Made it on your own for so long. I’m not going to try and reign you back in just because your asshole cousin caused you this pain. I just want to be able to support you from here on out- no matter where you are. Are we clear?”</p>
<p>He nods his head. Yeah, he should probably look into therapy. He’d just been a little too caught up in Kent as of late to try to help and himself. He brings the coffee cup up to his lips and resolves to do that in the coming new year.</p>
<p>His mother appears pleased as she goes to move back towards the oven to get the cinnamon buns out of it.</p>
<p>The doorbell rings. His sister and mother stop what they’re doing and look at each other. “Would you mind getting that?” his mother asks.</p>
<p>“Sure,” he responds.</p>
<p>He gets up to head towards the front door, taking his coffee with him. Opening it he’s surprised to note that Daniel’s standing there holding out a large black trash bag filled with something.</p>
<p>“You,” he growls, dropping the bag before lunging at Jeff.</p>
<p>Jeff sidesteps, mourning the coffee that falls from the cup. He sets it down on a table by the front door, not wanting to spill any more before joining him on the front porch. </p>
<p>“You asshole, why did you say that? Now mom won’t look at me. She says I ruined Christmas when it was really you who came and told everyone that I threatened to out you when I did no such thing.”</p>
<p>Jeff stares at him astounded. He knew that Daniel was an asshole. Could tell by the way he’d cornered him after a blowjob in a bathroom and again by how he cornered him at work after the Stanley Cup finals. He’d just never thought he’d deny it to Jeff’s face.</p>
<p>He goes to get a swing in at Jeff’s stomach. It hurts, but mainly because it hurts when people punch you. But, he used to be an enforcer on the ice, and it’s not like that completely disappeared. Especially since he still works out.</p>
<p>He enjoys the satisfaction of watching Daniel shake his hand afterward. Jeff snorts, the dumbass hadn’t utilized proper form when pulling off the punch. </p>
<p>Daniel’s still too busy dealing with his hand to notice Jeff gearing up for his own punch in retaliation. It hits clean in the jaw. The sound of bones crunching against his fist satisfies something low inside of him that had been deeply unsettled for years. Daniel drops to his knees gripping his face.</p>
<p>Jeff just stares at him trying to figure out what to say before deciding that the punch did enough talking on its own. He reaches for the bag, finding it to be full of presents. He perks up at that. At least his Aunt wasn’t completely terrible, just terrible at raising kids apparently, specifically Daniel.</p>
<p>He turns to go back inside. He stops when he hears Daniel mutter something behind him. He throws a glance back over his shoulder.</p>
<p>“What was that?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Daniel spits out.</p>
<p>Jeff shakes his head, turning around again. He drops the bag on the threshold of the front door. He grips Daniel’s jaw in his hand to bring him to eye level. “No, fuck you. Now listen closely. If you ever come near me or my family again there’ll be more where that came.”</p>
<p>“They’re my family too.”</p>
<p>Jeff shakes his head, “Not anymore.” He releases Daniel’s jaw, reveling in how he crumples back to the cement. He snatches up the bag of presents again. “And Daniel?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“You might want to ice that.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>Canon typical alcohol abuse</li>
<li>Light fighting (punches are thrown)</li>
</ol>
<p>Before anyone asks- Daniel's mom sent him to go "make amends" because she means well, she's just tone deaf. It's only vaguely hinted at and not discussed further so I figured I'd just clear that up now.</p>
<p>But regardless- let me just say that writing this chapter was so fucking cathartic. And sometimes when I was feeling down about editing the angst I'd read the last line just to feel something other than sadness.</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a></p>
<p>I also logged into my old tumblr for the first time in forever so if you'd prefer to connect with me there I'm often lurking on <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heyo- please don't take anything I write as medical advice. But anyway, welcome back to where we left off at the end of chapter 19.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They stare at each other in the hallway. “Did you just?”</p>
<p>Kent feels his heart beat too loudly in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. “Yeah, I guess I did,” because truly there’s no point in lying. If he backpedals now he’ll just look like a charlatan trying to wheedle his way into her trust.</p>
<p>Carmen narrows her eyes. “We’re talking about this later,” before turning back and walking further into the building.</p>
<p>He almost calls, “Wednesday after practice works for me,” but then remembers where they are and thinks better of it. If she wants to get in touch with him, well, she knows where to find him. In the meantime he’ll just have to hope that the fear of mutually assured destruction is enough for her to not go running to the papers. Not that he’d really be able to do anything without garnering backlash if he did bring her problems to light in retaliation. He’d just be labeled an asshole on top of being gay.</p>
<p>He sighs.</p>
<p>He really needs to be drunk like yesterday. Which he supposes he was. He frowns at that before shaking his head. What’s important is that he needs to get drunk like right now.</p><hr/>
<p>The holidays pass in a blur. He uses the weird schedule of his team to avoid going home for Christmas and ends up calling home, mostly sober, instead. He thinks he’s managed to convince his mom that he’s okay but he has a feeling Julie knows too much, what with her asking what he’s drinking to get through the season. It comes off as a joke, but there’s a charge behind it like she knows he’s already started in on the rum, hold the eggnog. She harrumphs when he tells her that he’s not drinking anything, but lets it drop regardless.</p>
<p>It’s exhausting, is what it is.</p>
<p>He drinks his way through the new year thanks to a weird break the team has, which also means everyone else on the team uses that time to go home to celebrate a combination of Christmas and New Years with their families. It’s an unfortunate fact that he ends up running himself dry shortly thereafter. Still he ends up delaying getting more alcohol seeing as he’s definitely too drunk for that and besides, they’re heading out on a roadie after this and there’s no point keeping the house stocked while he’s gone.</p>
<p>Which, he doesn’t have a problem. He manages to cut himself down to just one of whatever’s in the mini fridges of the hotel rooms to stop the shaking in his hands. If he doesn’t have his hands then he doesn’t have hockey. And if he doesn’t have hockey, then he has nothing.</p>
<p>It’s a cycle. He’s not sure he’d call it vicious, if just because that means he’s doing something wrong. And if he’s doing something wrong then that’s just going to open up the can of worms where his fears of being replaceable are located and he <i>really</i> doesn’t want to deal with that.</p>
<p>So he just doesn’t.</p><hr/>
<p>The problem with not having stocked up before going on the roadie means that when he comes back worn out and wants nothing more than something to take the edge off, is that there’s nothing to do just that. He debates waiting until after practice the next day to go get some more, but ends up deciding that there’s no point in putting off what can be done today.</p>
<p>Putting things off is what got him into this mess in the first place.</p>
<p>He takes an uber there, too tired to try and figure out where the keys to either car are and provides half-hearted answers to the driver. He’s at least grateful that the driver doesn’t seem to recognize him, especially since he’s heading to a liquor store late at night.</p>
<p>He ends up perusing the aisles for an indefinite amount of time, unsure of what to buy. It feels like he’s stuck between warring taste buds and the overwhelming desire to just get fucked up quickly. He’s learned his lesson at least, having deleted Jeff’s text thread and subsequently his number from his phone for good. He does not need a repeat of whatever the fuck that was in December.</p>
<p>In the end he grabs a variety and figures he can afford it. </p>
<p>But before he can make it to the cash register he runs into Carmen. Quite literally, unfortunately. She startles and turns towards him to give what is likely a thorough verbal beatdown. He’d probably deserve it, is the thing.</p>
<p>Instead, her eyes go wide when she realizes who he is.</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asks, voice lethal.</p>
<p>He looks down at his arms laden with alcohol and then back up to her, “Buying alcohol.”</p>
<p>“For the entire team? I thought you guys literally just got in tonight.”</p>
<p>He pauses and when he can’t think of a lie he just shrugs and aims for nonchalant, “Nah, it’s just for me.”</p>
<p>Her jaw drops, “Jesus Christ Kent. Do you need help? Like do you have someone to talk about shit to?”</p>
<p>He evades her gaze and clutches the bottles closer to his chest. It might not make sense to some but this works for him. And who is she to judge him? She’s the one with the hidden kid. </p>
<p>“Oh my God- you don’t.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Which explains why you’re in this tiny ass liquor store likely nowhere near where you live at like ass o’clock at night.”</p>
<p>He opens his mouth to say something, although he’s not entirely sure what.</p>
<p>She stops him with a finger against his mouth. “No, just no. Here’s what’s going to happen. Either you drop this alcohol back where you found it and you go home without,” she narrows her eyes at him, “going to a different store. Or,” and she brightens at this, an unidentifiable gleam in starting to shine within them, “you can buy it, but you have to come home with me.”</p>
<p>He tightens his grip on the alcohol again. He could probably get away with heading to a different store, but he’s already here and drained as it is. Plus, he has a feeling she’d find out and for whatever reason disappointing her feels like disappointing his mother. The hollow part of his heart begs him to listen to her so he nods slowly. He’s not entirely sure what’s in it for her, but at least she appears to care and that’s enough for him right now.</p>
<p>He ends up paying for both of their purchases. Mostly because she elbows him in the rib over her buying the second cheapest wine, like it’s an inside joke he should understand. He doesn’t, but he is suddenly worried about her bank account and won’t take no for an answer when it comes to paying for it. She relents, but only after a stare off that lasts a little too long for either of their liking, with a silent mediator in the cashier who looks so incredibly bored.</p>
<p>When they exit together she only raises an eyebrow at him admitting that he got a ride here but leads him to her car anyway. </p>
<p>“Alcohol goes in the back,” she tells him firmly.</p>
<p>He’s still not 100% sure he trusts her and he definitely doesn’t want to part with it. She sighs, looking annoyed as though she’s handling a child who’s not in the mood to listen.</p>
<p>“Look, I’m not going to steal your shit. You’re literally still going to be in the same car as it. Besides I can’t exactly drink with a kid around.”</p>
<p>His eyes widen. Right, her kid. Where is her kid?</p>
<p>“She’s staying with her grandmother right now,” she answers without him asking. “But that’s besides the point. Alcohol can’t be where the driver can reach it. No drinking and driving and all that jazz. Plus I don’t have being a professional athlete as a get out of a ticket free card. All I have is officers pulling me over and telling me I’m pretty for my ethnicity, not that they can ever guess that, and a no seriously, where are you really from before getting a giant ass ticket. So please, for the love of God, just put the fucking alcohol in the back seat.”</p>
<p>He gulps. It doesn’t look like he has a choice. He drops them off, wincing when the bottles clink against each other before settling on the floor. He slides into the passenger’s seat and purposely does not think about just how feral her grin is. He has no doubt the night’s not over just yet.</p><hr/>
<p>She doesn’t let him bring his alcohol into her apartment. Shakes her head when he goes to reach for it, even with his seatbelt still on. Apparently she wants him sober for whatever they’re going to discuss.</p>
<p>He tries to ignore the tremors in his hands.</p>
<p>It’s mostly a blur of walking up a too narrow staircase and sitting down in a rickety chair at a sticky table after that. He doesn’t come into himself until a cup of tea is placed in front of him. He stares at it, and then up at her again.</p>
<p>“Chamomile,” she announces unceremoniously.</p>
<p>He places both of his hands around it too quickly and pulls back as he all but burns himself. </p>
<p>She smirks, “Careful, it’s hot.”</p>
<p>He glares at her before reaching for the handle instead. He blows on it to have something to do with hands so that he won’t have to acknowledge what’s going on with them. He takes a sip when he figures it’s cool enough and burns his tongue. He refuses to give her the satisfaction of mentioning that, and instead focuses on the earthy flavor.</p>
<p>“‘Sgood.”</p>
<p>A smug aura surrounds her. “I know, it’s my favorite. My mom used to give it to me whenever we needed to have a talk.”</p>
<p>His stomach sinks down into his feet and further into the floor. He’s being mommed. This is an intervention by somebody who doesn’t really know him, and yet, he’s being mommed.</p>
<p>“I, I’m fine,” he tries to grit out.</p>
<p>“Kent, frankly, you and I both know that that’s bullshit. From the outside it looks like you’ve slipped into alcoholic tendencies. I’m worried that it has something to do with you outing yourself in a sport that currently has no out players. To me no less.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. He doesn’t really think she’d out him. Maybe that’s the tiny sliver of optimist left inside of him. Maybe it’s just that he’s too fucking tired to even attempt to wrap his head around that possibility. Regardless, he hasn’t lost any sleep over it. Although, that might just be because he drinks himself to sleep each night. He grimaces.</p>
<p>“No, I’ve been drinking since I lost that game point streak I had.”</p>
<p>“Which was?”</p>
<p>He squints his eyes and looks up into the dim light above them. “I want to say around the beginning of December?”</p>
<p>Carmen lets out a long sigh. “Okay, so like a month and a half then. Not ideal, but still something you can work through.”</p>
<p>He stiffens and pulls away from her and further into his chair. He doesn’t want to have to work on fixing himself, because then that means something’s wrong. And if something’s wrong that means everyone has a legitimate reason for replacing him. Which makes him just want to drink to forget it all even more so. He pauses that thought process and yeah, okay, it’s likely that this is in fact a vicious circle.</p>
<p>He snaps his gaze back to hers. She’s staring at him with an inscrutable look on her face. She reaches her hand across the table, placing it on his forearm. He flinches.</p>
<p>“Kent, when I ask this you need to answer me honestly. Are you seeing someone for your mental health?”</p>
<p>He half laughs, half snorts, shaking his head to signify no.</p>
<p>“You know there’s nothing wrong with going to therapy right?”</p>
<p>He pulls his arm away from her too quickly, holding it tightly to his chest when it grazes the still too hot side of the cup. “Sure, until they shove medication down your throat so you can keep playing until you can’t take it anymore and you end up passed out on your hotel room’s bathroom floor because you overdosed on said medication.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet between the two of them.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, like any louder and she's afraid he’ll spook.</p>
<p>He all but hisses in response. “Are you? You’re the one hiding the fact that you have a fucking kid. Bet that makes her feel real loved.”</p>
<p>She stands up from her seat across from him and slams her hands against the table. “Because some of us have to make ends meet and if that means lying about who her mother is then so be it. Sorry you have your own fucking issues but don’t you dare try to shift the blame onto me just because you won’t get help for whatever fucking reason. How <i>dare</i> I try to make sure the fucking captain of the Aces doesn’t wind up with alcohol poisoning and blacked out on his own tile bathroom?”</p>
<p>Something inside of him breaks at that. She’s right, he just hadn’t had it so blatantly laid out in front of him before. And he’s not okay, hasn’t been since who knows when. Definitely long before his losing the game point streak, before everything with Jeff, maybe even before everything that went down with Jack. And God, if he keeps going down this path she’s right- he’d end up just like Jack, flopped out like a dying fish on cold grout and a dirty floor.</p>
<p>In an attempt to stop history from repeating itself, he’d end up in the position his nightmares are so quick to remind him of.</p>
<p>His cheeks heat in embarrassment as the tears roll down them. “God I’m so fucked up,” he mutters as he shoves his face into his hands. “I just feel like I’m replaceable and I don’t know what to do about that. Like I don’t even know where to begin, because you’re right- I should have everything. And then that just makes me feel even worse about feeling shitty and just- fuck. Fuck everything.”</p>
<p>He feels a hand rest on his shoulder and begin to rub in a soothing motion over it. His head is tugged into what he assumes is Carmen’s stomach. He sobs into it as she moves to stroke his hair instead. </p>
<p>“There, there, it’s okay. Why don’t you sleep on the couch tonight? We can make a plan in the morning for you to get therapy, okay?”</p>
<p>“But the pills,” he sniffles, words mostly muffled.</p>
<p>She pulls his head up to look into his eyes. “You do know that you can request no medication or only certain kinds, right? Whatever happened to your friend in that story, I’m assuming it’s a friend at least, shouldn’t be the norm. Plus psychiatrists are the ones who prescribe it, not therapists.” </p>
<p>He places his head back against her, nodding as he goes. </p>
<p>“You know a lot,” he mumbles when he finally lets up on the crying.</p>
<p>She laughs. “At one point I was in school with the intention of being one. A therapist that is, but then life happened and I had Alanna.” He can feel her shrug. “Sometimes life just happens and all we can do is make the best of it.”</p><hr/>
<p>In the morning he wakes to a headache, not from alcohol, but instead from dehydration. He folds the blanket, all tangled and knitted knots, on the couch and downs a glass of orange juice under the watchful gaze of Carmen. He’s sure gatorade could do a better job, but it’s not like he’s in his own house and he figures beggars can’t be choosers. </p>
<p>“Do you, uh, do you have any recommendations?”</p>
<p>She cocks her head to the side in confusion.</p>
<p>“For therapists. Recommendations for therapists,” he clarifies.</p>
<p>A frown settles over her features. “Unfortunately I do not. Maybe check with a team doctor for recommendations?”</p>
<p>He nods, a plan beginning to form in his mind. “Right, well, uh, thanks?”</p>
<p>She smiles, the <i>you’re welcome</i> going unsaid between the two of them. </p>
<p>He goes to turn to leave, but stops before he finishes. “Hey, if you ever need a babysitter and I’m available,” he trails off.</p>
<p>She laughs again, “You know if you give me your number I just might take you up on that.”</p>
<p>He turns back towards her grinning, something light buoying up in his chest. “Here give me your phone,” he says, reaching out for it. He adds his number with more enthusiasm than he’s felt in a while.</p>
<p>It’s not until he’s in the back of a different uber home does he realize that he left his alcohol in the backseat of her car. He glances down at his hands. They don’t shake even as he grips his phone a little too tightly. </p>
<p>He doesn’t bother asking if they can turn around.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>Kent's definitely in the throes of depression</li>
<li>Heavy misuse of self-medicating with alcohol</li>
<li>References to Jack's overdose</li>
<li>References to how Kent could end up getting severe alcohol poisoning</li>
</ol>
<p>Welcome to the third act y'all. Hope the wait wasn't too stressful. And for everyone that guessed that Carmen wasn't going to out him- you were right. I have very specific plans for her even further down the line haha</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> or on tumblr <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heyo- please don't take anything I write as medical advice. Back out here to remind y'all that I am merely a fanfic writer who is mostly projecting and it's been a hot second since I've gone in person to therapy. So, would I recommend it? Yes. Is all therapy going to look like what happens in this fic? No. Was my therapy even exactly like what happens in this fic? Also no.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff stays through the New Year reveling in the feeling of being connected with his family for the first time in what feels like forever. When the ball drops on Midnight he doesn’t even think about Kent. Although that’s probably more so the floaty feeling from the alcohol talking than anything else. Especially since his heart still pangs when he sees Jenna and Drew share a kiss. And if the shy smile his mom has on her face is anything to go off she probably got to kiss her boyfriend too.</p>
<p>He’ll blame loneliness for how he imagines what it’d be like to lean against Kent as the countdown explodes around them. How it’d feel to tip his chin up and press their lips together. Chaste at first because they’re in eyeshot of others, but losing themselves in it pretty quickly. He only comes out of that thought when his sister jostles him on the way up to her old room with her fiancé.</p>
<p>So maybe he does think about Kent in all actuality.</p>
<p>Still, he makes it back to Vegas in one piece. His hand still aches sometimes, but he chalks that up to not having used it for punching in a hot second. Regardless, he definitely doesn’t regret that in the slightest. Daniel seemingly got the message, what with making himself scarce around town. The fact that he can walk around his home town without having to glance behind his shoulder at any given moment shouldn’t be as novel a feeling, but since it is, he basks in said feeling as often as possible.</p>
<p>He’s a little too giddy when he shows back up on the doorstep of the condo, causing Birdie to eye him warily when he walks in the front door. “Yes?” she asks, drawing out the syllable.</p>
<p>And, well, he can’t help himself. He grins, dropping his bag with way too much enthusiasm. “Look,” he says, holding out his right hand. </p>
<p>She looks at it, back up to his face, and then back down again. “It looks like a hand?” she asks, obviously confused.</p>
<p>He nods, “Yeah, it’s the one I punched Daniel with.” His tone is probably a bit too gleeful for the subject, but Birdie doesn’t look put out so he figures it’s fine.</p>
<p>Her eyes widen and she steps forward to grab it. “Holy shit, kid,” she says, awe filling her voice. She grips his hand, turning it over as if to check for damage. “It doesn’t look any worse for wear,” she finally comments.</p>
<p>He shrugs, still grinning. “I mean it aches a little in the cold sometimes but otherwise it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“That’s probably to be expected,” she nods slowly.</p>
<p>He nods, excitement still coursing through his veins. It’s like he’s been struck by lightning. He’s lucky for all the wrong reasons, but the energy’s still there so he might as well use it.</p>
<p>She looks up and grins at him conspiratorially. “You sure you actually got him? It’s not like there’s really any proof, what with this hand being fine.”</p>
<p>He laughs, pulling his hand back in towards himself. He leans in close to whisper in her ear, “I heard bones crack.”</p>
<p>She throws her head back laughing. “I bet whoever taught you to throw a punch would be proud. I know I am.”</p>
<p>He pulls back again, smile dimming only slightly. His dad had been the one who had taught him after he’d seen a pitiful display on the ice after a rival team’s forward had gotten up in his goalie’s crease. He might’ve also had a crush on said goalie, but that was a completely different story. Regardless, his dad had taught him his form and from there on out he’d stepped into the role of enforcer on ice like a second skin. But then his lips tug back upwards, because yeah, his dad would be proud of him. It almost feels full circle.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I bet they are.”</p>
<p>She must realize he doesn’t want to elaborate because she drags him over to the couch. “Now sit, tell me everything.”</p>
<p>He sits down slowly before working to drag himself out of the haze he’d managed to work himself into. “Well, my sister’s pregnant,” he starts. “She’s engaged. And my mom has a new boyfriend? Who’s nice, he has my approval for now.” He laughs, even as his voice cracks. “And I, I have a plan to see a therapist starting next week.”</p>
<p>Birdie leans over to clasp his hands in hers. He doesn’t think it’s a trick of the light when he notices them shining. But if she’s not going to acknowledge it, he won’t either. “Oh Jeff,” she says softly.</p>
<p>He just nods and feels the tears threaten to spill from his own eyes. He gets it, those words encompass a vast ocean of emotions that settles in between them. And yet, this time around the horizon doesn’t seem so far.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he finally responds.</p>
<p>Neither mention how choked up he sounds.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent sits outside the office, his leg bouncing up and down as the anxiety courses through him. Logically he recognizes that he’s been here before and that it went fine the multiple times he’s come already, but it doesn’t stop the flood that fills in the cavities of his chest that make it hard to breathe. So he bounces his leg to force himself to focus on something other than how his breath has gone shallow.</p>
<p>Nobody else is in the lobby. Just him and the sound of traffic whirring by outside. He slouches down in his chair as though any of the drivers could potentially catch sight of him and sell the story to the next highest bidder. Technically he’s aware that there’s nothing wrong with seeing somebody for his mental health. Management was more than willing to work with him, which had been a welcome surprise. Although that probably had something to do with the fact that he’d been pretty vague about his reasons for wanting to start therapy. It’s not like he particularly wants to make his agent’s job any harder than it already is.</p>
<p>On a grimmer note that he doesn’t let himself think about often, he sometimes wonders if they’re just glad that he's not going to end up like Jack. That he was getting help before an overdose on hard drugs became the prognosis. He always quickly stops that line of thought however, because it always leads him back to Jack and he’s working hard at trying to separate hockey and Jack from each other in therapy. </p>
<p>It’s not like Jack’s going to sign with Vegas at this rate anyway. And maybe that’s a good thing. And maybe-</p>
<p>A door opens off to the side and the therapist calling his name breaks him out of his thoughts. He’s still hesitant to call her <i>his</i> therapist, not wanting to get attached quite yet. He’s worried he’ll say something one of these days and she’ll tell him he’s too broken for her to work with. She’d probably say that that’s the feeling of abandonment he’s been battling his whole life talking.</p>
<p>She sits down across from him, adjusting the glasses that have fallen further down the slope of her nose. She doesn’t take out anything to take notes with, instead choosing to lean forward and fold her hands across her knee. </p>
<p>He’s talked to Carmen about the therapist’s method, worried that maybe he wasn’t something worth dissecting and in turn not worth helping. She’d just told him it varied and that different professionals had differing ideas of how to approach patients. It makes him feel better then, that he’s not a medical freak. Sometimes he can even imagine he’s just having a conversation with her and that she’s not trying to figure out how his brain works. </p>
<p>Carmen would probably tell him that that’s the point.</p>
<p>“How are you today, Kent?” she asks.</p>
<p>He sinks into the chair opposite of her. He’s not entirely sure. He feels like that a lot lately. Like every time he has an appointment he has to rebuild a piece of himself, but from memory and different material, draining the excess in the meantime to do so. He’s been tired a lot at practice lately because of it, but on the plus side he knows the new A’s name, it’s Kyle apparently, and he and Scraps are on the mend. He hopes anyway. The Russian had been uncomfortably wary when he’d invited him to lunch for today.</p>
<p>“Nervous,” he settles on, feeling the telltale sign of anxiety leave his muscles. He’s probably been pavloved into this overwhelming sense of calmness, but it’s like a hit that he never wants to stop taking. </p>
<p>“Oh?” she responds, quirking her head to the side, “And why is that?”</p>
<p>He focuses on the way the light hits her hair making it hard to decipher if it’s blonde or silver as he formulates his answer. “I’m, um, I’m meeting a friend for lunch after this,” he replies, nervously swallowing and licking his lips involuntarily.</p>
<p>She nods thoughtfully. “And what makes you feel so nervous about this meeting?”</p>
<p>He can feel his face forge a grimace. “I haven’t been the best friend to them lately.”</p>
<p>She nods slowly.</p>
<p>He waits for the berating he’s expecting to come. When it doesn’t, he lets out a sigh of relief and continues. “And I’m worried about what’s going to happen during the lunch with them.”</p>
<p>Her glasses are made of wireframe and cause her blue eyes to stand out against her alabaster skin.</p>
<p>“And what’s the worst that could happen do you think?”</p>
<p>“Well, <i>worst</i> worst he kills me.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t laugh. The silver watch on her left wrist glints in the sun.</p>
<p>“But, I guess, I’m worried he won’t want to be friends with me anymore,” he finishes more demure.</p>
<p>“And are you prepared for that possibility?”</p>
<p>Her nails are a chipped purple.</p>
<p>“No,” he answers honestly. “But I’m also not sure I have a choice.”</p>
<p>There’s a dark freckle on her throat he follows as she nods again.</p>
<p>“And why is that?”</p>
<p>He lets out a long sigh. “He’s a teammate,” he finally answers honestly. “He’s also an A.”</p>
<p>She shoots him a confused look.</p>
<p>“Alternate captain. I’m the captain and then there’s some alternates in case something happens to me and I can’t be involved or if I’m busy there’s other points of leadership the team can go to.”</p>
<p>She nods again in understanding. She knows he’s a hockey player but not necessarily the ins and outs of the sport. It helps ease his fears of this whole process being outed to the world at least. Well that, and the NDA of course.</p>
<p>“And I’m just worried that he’s not going to want to try and remain civil if this lunch goes poorly,” he finishes.</p>
<p>There’s a picture of her family on the desk. Three kids surrounding a dog with a different woman that’s not her looking on fondly. He wonders if now’s as good a time as any to come out to her. But then she’s asking him a question and he’s brought back to the present.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry could you repeat that?”</p>
<p>She smiles, “And why do you think he won’t want to remain civil?”</p>
<p>He stills, not having noticed that he’d been rocking back and forth the entirety of the meeting so far. “I’m not sure?”</p>
<p>“Okay, let’s start there then.”</p><hr/>
<p>He leaves the appointment feeling drained but lighter for it too. He has a game plan for his lunch with Scraps. He knows not to feel too disappointed if Scraps doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before. That just like he has rights to his feelings, Scraps does as well. It helps that she gave him explicit permission to call after the lunch to update her and to help him figure out next steps if it goes horribly wrong.</p>
<p>She still hasn’t entirely convinced him on the anxiety medication aspect. But he did concede to seeing a psychiatrist once they got knocked out of the playoffs. Which he has a feeling will be sooner rather than later this season, no matter that the regular portion of said season hasn’t even ended yet. His using alcohol as a crutch had caused a drought for him and he’s definitely having some issues trying to get back into the swing of things. Plus, their top goalie’s out on IR so he’s not exactly holding his breath for a back to back cup win. </p>
<p>It’s not necessarily the greatest feeling in the world but he also can’t wait to sleep for like a week straight, so it is what it is. </p>
<p>He goes to confirm the location of the restaurant with Scraps and frowns when he notices a missed call from Carmen. He brings the phone to his ear to call back, not bothering with the message.</p>
<p>“Oh thank God,” is the first thing he hears as he starts the trek down the stairs to the parking lot.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” he asks, mind automatically racing to the worst possible conclusion.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I mean no. I mean yeah, I’m fine, but like something came up and now Astrid can’t watch Alanna and Tiffany’s getting suspicious and I was wondering if maybe you’d be available to babysit?”</p>
<p>The words fly at him all at once and it takes a second for him to parse the pieces together into a coherent understanding. He checks the time on his watch as he stands in front of the driver’s door on his car. Doing the mental math he figures he should be able to pick her up and make it to the restaurant where he’s meeting Scraps only slightly late.</p>
<p>“Uh, do you mind if I bring her to a restaurant?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Frankly, as long as she doesn’t die I don’t care where you bring her.”</p>
<p>She sounds exasperated. </p>
<p>“Then you can expect me in ten.” </p>
<p>He slides into the seat as he hears the exhale through the phone. “You’re a lifesaver.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t mention that she likely saved his. Instead he says, “You’re going to help with her booster seat, right?”</p>
<p>There’s a sharp laugh as he buckles himself in. “Of course, Kent. See you in 10.”</p>
<p>He grins to himself before pausing. He should probably at least warn Scraps about the fact that he’s bringing Alanna with him.</p>
<p><b>Hope you don’t mind that I’m bringing a kid</b>, he types out before throwing the phone in the passenger’s seat. The anxiety’s already started to re-rush in. He takes a moment to breathe in to a count of 10, followed by breathing out to a count of 10 again. When he can see clearly again he starts the car. </p>
<p>He supposes now’s a time as good as any to face the music.</p><hr/>
<p>The first thing that happens when he steps out of his car the restaurant is that he’s accosted by Scraps shoving a finger in his chest. Which, he’d kind of expected that at some point, just not so soon. And definitely not before he’d even had a chance to explain everything.</p>
<p>“Who is kid belong to?”</p>
<p>Kent holds his hands up in surrender. “She’s a friend’s kid. Her name’s Alanna. The babysitter had to cancel last minute so I took her. Jesus dude, you’re going to scare her.” He jerks his head to the back where she’s sitting counting her fingers.</p>
<p>“Is friend why Jeff no longer come around?” he asks, still angry, not stepping away.</p>
<p>Kent shoots him a confused look. “Carmen and I just met like last month. Jeff and I haven’t seen each other since like June.”</p>
<p>If he doesn’t bring up December, then he can at least pretend like it never happened.</p>
<p>Scraps eyes go softer and he steps back. “Is Carmen what make you happy now? No more Jeff?”</p>
<p>Kent lets out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, you want to do this. Fine. But what we’re not going to do is hash this out in a parking lot with a child in the backseat of my car. Pretty sure there are laws about that or something.”</p>
<p>Scraps nods in affirmation.</p>
<p>“Yes food first,” Scraps nods. “So happy you choose Russian food.”</p>
<p>Kent doesn’t answer. Refuses to admit that it was a choice in part because he had plans to butter up Scraps into not hating him. The bonus being that it also wasn’t a Vegas hot spot and that they could have at least a semblance of privacy.</p>
<p>He goes around to the other side and unbuckles Alanna out of the back. “Hope you like Russian, kiddo,” he says as he sets her down on the rocky ground. She clutches his hand back, but doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>He figured as much. She’s not super talkative to begin with and while Kent is around semi often now, Scraps is extremely brand new. He closes his eyes to focus himself, it’s going to be a long lunch, he can feel it.</p><hr/>
<p>Scraps, to his credit, waits until they’ve ordered for him to start in on Kent. Kent watches the waitress leave with his order of vareniki, that he definitely mispronounced if Scraps’ smirk is anything to go by, listed under Scraps’ order of pirog and Alanna’s borscht (he refuses to let her choke on his watch, so soup it is). He doesn’t turn to face Scraps until the waitress is out of the line of his sight.</p>
<p>Finally he does, casting a glance towards Alanna who seems preoccupied by the crayons and sheet she’s been given for coloring.</p>
<p>“Yes?” he finally manages to choke out, forcing himself to meet Scraps’ eyes.</p>
<p>Scraps stares at him for a moment longer before speaking. “You are with Carmen?” he asks.</p>
<p>Kent shakes his head. “No, I’m, uh,” he inhales sharply before deciding on his answer. In the end he shrugs and decides <i>fuck it</i>, apparently Scraps already knows so why lie? “I’m definitely too gay for that,” he exhales.</p>
<p>Scraps nods his head slowly but doesn’t react outwardly disgusted, so Kent takes that as a win. “That mean you like men, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah Scraps, that’s what that means.” He forces himself not to roll his eyes, just because this part’s gone well doesn’t necessarily mean the rest of it will.</p>
<p>“That mean you like Jeff!” he crows to himself excitedly.</p>
<p>“Yeah Scraps, I liked Jeff.” </p>
<p><i>Still do</i>, his brain supplies rather unhelpfully.</p>
<p>“I’m know,” he gloats. “You always together.”</p>
<p>“Jesus, rub it in my face some more why dontcha,” Kent half laughs, desperately trying not to show how uncomfortable he is right now. He’d just wanted to apologize for his recent behavior involving the team- not get into everything from before about Jeff.</p>
<p>“But why you not together now?” he asks, taking a turn towards despondent.</p>
<p>Kent takes a drink of his water and sighs to stall. “It’s a long story, but he ended it when I went to try and make it official. So, there’s that.”</p>
<p>“You never together? But he always around.”</p>
<p>Kent shakes his head. “We were just,” he pauses to look at Alanna who’s steadily making her way through a drawing of a lion, “sleeping together,” he finishes awkwardly. He hopes that’s PG enough for the six year old.</p>
<p>Scraps sucks in a breath of his own. “But he love you? And you love him.”</p>
<p>Something tickles at the back of his brain, a weird feeling of deja vu he can’t explain. Nonetheless he shakes his head. “Nah Scraps, maybe I was, but he wasn’t. I’m probably too fucked up for him anyway.” </p>
<p>He catches himself too late and shoots a worried glance at Alanna. She doesn’t pay either of them attention. He turns his attention back towards Scraps.</p>
<p>“No, in eyes. Can see. Both love.”</p>
<p>Kent shrugs before taking another sip of his water. He doesn’t know what else to tell Scraps. Jeff has definitely moved on and even if there had been a chance, he deserves somebody who's not forced into the closet due to their job.</p>
<p>“That’s not actually what I wanted to talk to you about though,” he says, changing the subject and dropping his pitch to convey the severity of the topic with all the subtlety of an elephant.</p>
<p>“What you want to talk about?” Scraps asks, matching his tone.</p>
<p>“How I’ve been interacting with the team lately. I haven’t been a very good C,” he grimaces around his straw. “And I need to acknowledge that you’ve been doing such a good job stepping up while I was going through some shit.”</p>
<p>Scraps’ eyes widen. “You okay? Need time off ice? Was worried but seem better now so I not worry as much.”</p>
<p>Kent forces the tears to stay in their ducts. Should he take time off? Probably. Will he? No. It’s not like he can leave his team in a lurch this close to the postseason and then the media shit show that would ascend upon him. He shudders at the thought.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m going to therapy now. I wasn’t in a good place after last June-”</p>
<p>“Jeff,” Scraps cuts him off.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Jeff. But also Boston in December? I met with an old friend and there was a fall out and then I lost my game point streak and I kind of spiraled?” He pauses, “No, I definitely spiraled.”</p>
<p>“But you better now?”</p>
<p>Kent shoots him a soft smile. “Getting there. Carmen’s the one who convinced me to get a therapist. I’m thinking about maybe trying some meds during the summer? Not entirely convinced but it is what it is.”</p>
<p>It’s definitely downplaying everything else Carmen does for him, what with her consistent check-ins and helping him work through his feelings of therapy after the sessions. He should probably look into making arrangements to pay for her rent to assuage his guilty feelings of eating up her time. He’s also not entirely sure how well that’ll go over- but, it can’t hurt to try.</p>
<p>Scraps smiles at him. Which, Kent figures he probably understood half of everything he’s just blurted out, but the support is nice.</p>
<p>“And Carmen is?” he trails off.</p>
<p>“A friend, and only a friend,” he confirms. Then he tips his head back to Alanna and adds, “And Alanna’s mother.”</p>
<p>Alanna glances up at her name and goes to show her drawing off. The lion has a party hat. He oohs and aahs and tells her that the lion might like some cake for its birthday party. To which she narrows her eyes and responds that it’s a house moving party just like her Aunt had last week.</p>
<p>Kent barks out a laugh. He wonders if he was ever that funny as a child as he watches Scraps lean in to see her drawing better. He smiles to himself, staying alive for the babysitting alone is worth it.</p>
<p>He vows to let Carmen know when she picks Alanna up.</p><hr/>
<p>Carmen meets them in the parking lot. It turns out the restaurant’s on the way to where she needed to head to next, and she only has the one car seat anyway so it’s just easier in the end.</p>
<p>What Kent’s not expecting is for Scraps to freeze up next to him when Carmen steps out of her beat up toyota. Alanna tugs at his hand when she sees her mom so he lets go, only checking for incoming cars a half a second too late. Carmen raises an eyebrow over her child throwing herself at her. Kent shrugs sheepishly. He’ll remember better next time.</p>
<p>“You not tell me who Carmen is,” Scraps whispers next to him.</p>
<p>Kent turns to look at him. “What do you mean? Do you know her?”</p>
<p>Scraps goes red. “No, but I know who is? She on ice after us.”</p>
<p>“You mean during the intermission, in between when we play?”</p>
<p>Scraps nods, “Yes, that. You not say Carmen is <i>Carmen</i>.” He emphasizes her name the second time forcefully, as if by doing so it’ll mean something.</p>
<p>It hits him suddenly what’s happening. Scraps has a crush on her. He’s probably never met her, but must at the very least recognize her name. And sometime in Kent’s fallout with reality he missed it.</p>
<p>He grins to himself. </p>
<p>“Hey Carmen, come meet Sacha, or Scraps, he goes by either,” he shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him. “He’s the one who joined Alanna and I for lunch today.”</p>
<p>Alanna nods seriously, “He helped me design the lion’s house moving party.”</p>
<p>Carmen looks down at her daughter, who’s now showing off her drawing. “Did he now?” Carmen asks Kent.</p>
<p>Kent winks before shoving Scraps towards her. “Yeah he did. You know, I can get the car seat switched out if you want to discuss that in further detail.”</p>
<p>He moves towards his car, half eavesdropping, but desperately trying not to be obvious about it. </p>
<p>“Oh, I not good with English,” Scraps tries to deflect.</p>
<p>Carmen shrugs, a smile playing on her lips. “Not like I can really judge. English’s my second language too.”</p>
<p>Scraps perks up at that.</p>
<p>“Oh? What is first language?” he asks excitedly.</p>
<p>A smile breaks out on her face at that. “Spanish,” she answers.</p>
<p>Scraps deflates slightly. “Oh, I not know that one.”</p>
<p>“That’s okay,” Carmen replies, “I can teach you.”</p>
<p>Scraps’ answering smile is blinding.</p>
<p>Kent doesn’t pump his fist as he unbuckles the seat from his car, but it’s certainly a close thing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>References to Jack's overdose</li>
<li>References to how Kent could have ended up getting severe alcohol poisoning</li>
<li>Therapy</li>
</ol>
<p>This chapter's for everyone that went "Scraps knows!" because yeah, yeah he did. Love that Russian teddy bear of a man. And as for Scraps/Carmen- wonder how many of you forgot that there's a Scraps/OFC tagged and has been since Day 1 lol</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> or on tumblr <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope what I wrote makes sense- a lot of it is tying up old threads that I purposely left open for the end. Some maybe that you didn't even catch at the time. </p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The feel good vibes of therapy for Jeff wear off pretty quickly when he hits a couple stonewalls. There’s nothing wrong with the guy, he’s just a little too into the idea of opening up old wounds to help them heal better or something. The appointment where he suggests trying to get closure with Daniel is the final straw. </p>
<p>He’s pretty sure punching the guy counts as closure.</p>
<p>At least the new therapist he starts seeing is nicer. She’s round and bubbly and draws out comfort from him like a seamstress pulling a thread through a needle. Suffice to say, she’s quick and efficient, but does it with a smile on her face. Still, he waits until his fourth visit with her before he asks if she thinks he should connect with others for closure.</p>
<p>She cocks her head to the side before asking, “Do you think you need closure?”</p>
<p>Which, if he sits with himself, he doesn’t <i>need closure</i>, but he supposes in some cases it might be a good idea. With Kent maybe, he thinks, but then again he left the next morning, so maybe not. He’s in touch with his mother and sister now, (his nephew is the cutest and he will fight anyone who disagrees). He has no plans to ever talk to Daniel if possible and feels that that chapter of his life is firmly closed. And everyone he knew from hockey he barely remembers. He pauses that thought.</p>
<p>“Maybe with one person,” he settles on finally.</p><hr/>
<p>Kent agrees to do the photo shoot because Scraps is going. At least he’s not the only team member to follow Scraps’ lead. The new A being one of them, along with a couple of the rookies. Although he has his suspicions that the rookies only came because they’re caught up in the idea of the fame and the glamour. It’s not glamorous, and they’ll see that soon enough, but regardless they’re along for the ride. Kent, however, is only here because of Scraps.</p>
<p>He’s given up trying to get out of things when Scraps turns his puppy dog eyes on him. </p>
<p>Which, if he’s at least semi self aware, he recognizes that it’s only gotten worse since him and Carmen have gotten together. It’s always, “Carmen say you watch Alanna next time if you come with now,” followed by a pout that Kent swears he picked up from the kid herself. </p>
<p>And Kent’s not even super into kids, or at least that’s what he tells himself. His therapist suggests that it might stem from the fact that his dad left him and his mom when he was young and that maybe he’s worried about doing the same to an unsuspecting child. And look, Kent’s a professional athlete, he thrives on praise. So if he uses spending more time with Alanna in exchange for praise from his therapist, so be it. Just don’t tell anyone he’s grown a little soft otherwise the chirps in the locker room will be relentless.</p>
<p>She tells him he’s making progress and he nearly cries at one of his appointments. Look, he’s working on the emotional aspect. He’ll take the small victories where he can get them.</p>
<p>So anyway, he agrees to do the photoshoot with Scraps because it means he gets to binge watch Disney movies with Alanna next Saturday when the team finally has an off day that Scraps is planning on using to take Carmen out on. It turns out that she doesn’t have a problem dating hockey players when they’re not assholes. He’d snorted when she told him that.</p>
<p>Which even if it was true, she didn’t have to lay it out so clearly like that. He gets it, he’s not good enough for her. Not good enough for Jeff either. But it’s thoughts like that that remind him why he’s still in therapy, so he shuts them down and tries his best to smile at the camera crew that’s setting up around the location.</p>
<p>“Is this an animal shelter?” he asks Scraps when he can finally get him alone.</p>
<p>Scraps nods excitedly. “Yes! Is best. We pet cute animals. They find new home. All win!”</p>
<p>Kent nods half listening. He’s sure it’s a good idea, it’s just, he’s also kind of terrified. Like he’s never had a pet growing up. His mom had been working hard to make ends meet for hockey until he’d gotten hooked up with the Zimmermanns (both figuratively and literally in Jack’s case) so there was never any point in adding an extra mouth to feed to the equation. Plus vet bills? He’s pretty sure those can be bad. He knows healthcare’s fucked in America so he can’t imagine animal healthcare being much better.</p>
<p>Scraps must be able to sense his reservation because in the next instance he’s hugging Kent. And while Kent appreciates the gesture and the sentiment of Scraps whispering in his ear that all the animals will love him, the fact that one of the volunteer workers is definitely glaring at him is so not helping.</p>
<p>All he can think about is how he’s definitely going to make one wrong move because the elderly grandmother type in the corner thinks he’s going to fuck it all up. He feels the anxiety seep through his pores, but Scraps just crushes him tighter to his chest and counts his breathing for him. He only lets go when Kent doesn’t feel like crying anymore.  Luckily the cameras aren’t rolling when he brushes the few tears that managed to fall away from his eyes.</p>
<p>He risks a glance back at the old lady. She’s glaring at him with an intensity he’s only rarely ever faced, all the times previous having been from Jack’s ire. It’s something about the blue eyes, he thinks, that really chill you to the core when they turn to ice. And while he at least kind of gets where Jack’s coming from now, thanks to therapy, he’s not entirely sure what he did to make this woman who he’s definitely never met have such a large amount of animosity towards him.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, whatever the reason, hopefully he won’t be paired up with her for the shoots.</p><hr/>
<p>He’s paired up with her. </p>
<p>Not for the still shots luckily, there’s some slip of a blonde thing who giggles the entire time and is definitely vying for his attention while doing so. He doesn’t bother telling her he’s not interested, far too worried he’ll end up dropping the animals that keep being shoved in his arms. Even if she was his preferred gender she can’t be more than 18 and he’s never been into the idea of jailbait.</p>
<p>But when he’s finally paired up with <i>her</i>, for the interview with an animal portion, her gaze is so pointed he feels like he’s being flayed alive. The cat she brings with her for the interview looks grumpy, but not like she wants to roast him on a spit and serve him for dinner so he immediately latches onto the cat.</p>
<p>“This is Mildred,” the volunteer says, handing over a thick-furred black cat that’s missing her right eye.</p>
<p>“Hi Mildred,” he says softly, cooing and leaning down over her so as to not blow his cover while trying to read the volunteer’s nametag. Big blocky letters spell out <span class="u">Birdie</span>. </p>
<p>He doesn’t say anything about how her name, so light and airy, is in direct contradiction to her personality. He thinks it though.</p>
<p>“Mildred is very special,” she says, the condescending tone dripping from her words impossible to miss.</p>
<p>Mildred chooses that moment to yowl. The sound is akin to a cheese grater being thrown into a blender set to high with a haunting ambience overlay added in post production. He falls in love instantly.</p>
<p>It takes a bit for her to warm up to him, but considering the fact that Birdie’s still stiltedly asking him questions, he’ll take what he can get. He’s not sure how someone can make the question of asking where someone wants to go on vacation sound so threatening, but she manages to pull it off. At least Mildred’s purring in his lap by the time she starts asking about his love life.</p>
<p>“When was the last time you were in a relationship?”</p>
<p>He’s been in exactly two relationships in his life, if he includes Jack in that count. Otherwise that just leaves Jeff, which he’s also not actually one hundred percent sure he can. Still he figures that it’s probably safer to count Jeff, instead of claiming back in the Q and have the fanfiction about him and Jack resurge. Yes he knows that exists. He’d have to live under a rock to not know.</p>
<p>“Sometime last year,” he answers vaguely hoping that it’ll stop people from being able to do too much digging.</p>
<p>“Oh?” she says, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>He turns to her, hand still shoved in Mildred’s fur, who’s purr could be equated to the sound of a motor running.</p>
<p>“Is there something wrong with my answer?” he asks, not bothering to stop the hard edge his tone has taken on.</p>
<p>She shakes her head. “No,” she answers primly.</p>
<p>He hopes that whoever’s in charge of the video editing edits that part out. He’s used to getting shit on by the public, there’s no way this animal shelter volunteer who probably bakes cookies with her grandkids on the weekend has experienced that level of exposure before. Truthfully, nobody should have to go through with it, but such is the life of a professional athlete in the spotlight.</p>
<p>“So are you single?”</p>
<p>He can’t help the deep sigh that escapes from him. “Yeah, I’m single.”</p>
<p>Her voice goes razor thin. “So how did your last relationship end then?”</p>
<p>Kent shoots her a look, because who the fuck okayed these questions? “We wanted different things out of the relationship so we ended it amicably.” There’s no point in mentioning that they weren’t ever really dating and that Jeff had moved on first and he’d cried in his car in a parking lot with nobody around to see him. Some things are just better left unsaid.</p>
<p>Her brittle tone breaks on the next word out of her mouth. “Interesting.”</p>
<p>And Kent can’t take it anymore. He needs to regain control of this conversation. “I think-” he starts the same time she goes, “So what-”.</p>
<p>“Oh you go,” she snaps, obviously annoyed.</p>
<p>He glares back at her. “I think I’m going to adopt this cat.” He says it with more conviction than he necessarily feels. He’s not entirely sure that’s even what he’d meant to say but it’s too late to snatch back the words and stuff them further down into a box full of other involuntary thoughts. But also, he hasn’t had a panic attack since Mildred started purring even with the weirdass interview occurring, so maybe it’s for the best. Mildred licks his hand as though she’s heard his idea and approves of it.</p>
<p>Birdie’s mouth drops open. He allows himself to feel incredibly smug about that. Especially when Mildred starts kneading the fabric of his jeans.</p>
<p>To her credit, she recovers quickly. “Well, why don’t we do some rapid round questions then so we can get you situated in the adoption process?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he responds icily.</p>
<p>“What would you say is your type?”</p>
<p>“Romantically?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Romantically,” she confirms.</p>
<p>“Brunet, likes hockey and good at cooking.”</p>
<p>She narrows her eyes.</p>
<p>“Have you ever been in love?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>She sucks in a breath but recovers quickly.</p>
<p>“Worst reason to be broken up with?”</p>
<p>He bites his tongue and doesn’t say <i>because you found them on the floor of the bathroom overdosed on anxiety meds and now you’re projected to go number one overall in the NHL draft and they can’t handle that because of who their father is so they just ghost you</i> like he desperately wants to. He recognizes that he still feels anger towards Jack, it’s just lying dormant and he’s gotten better at managing it. </p>
<p>Instead he answers, “When they choose someone else because you were too scared to go all in.” Because how it ended with Jeff wasn’t a particularly great ending either.</p>
<p>It’s probably a little too on the nose and way too personal for an interview while he holds a cat that he has a feeling was previously described as hellspawn behind her back. But whatever, the whole interview’s been a shitshow since the beginning and PR will have to approve it regardless so maybe he’ll get lucky and they’ll only run a clip of him saying he’s going to adopt the cat in a compilation or something. Surely the rookies said something more viral worthy than whatever the fuck is going on here.</p>
<p>Birdie’s eyes widen but she doesn’t say anything. She can’t- not when one of the camera operators calls it. They probably figured it wasn’t going well and decided to pull the plug before it got any worse. He shoots the guy a smile and turns towards the blonde girl who’s excited to help him fill out the paperwork.</p><hr/>
<p>He doesn’t see Birdie again until he’s ready to leave, with Mildred (he’s definitely going to have to change that name), in her carrier. She corners him with nobody else near them, he knows because he glances around in case she plans on like murdering him or something. Today’s been weird enough as is.</p>
<p>“You know if you were really in love, you could probably still salvage it.”</p>
<p>He laughs. He can’t help it. The whole day has been like an absurd art painting that you have to squint too hard to make out the shapes while some pretentious asshole explains what the artist meant by the use of the colors. He wants to stop squinting and he wants the pretentious asshole who doesn’t know the whole story to stop acting like they do.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think I could,” he answers truthfully.</p>
<p>She huffs, crossing her arms. “And why’s that?”</p>
<p>“They already moved on.”</p>
<p>“And you’re sure of that?”</p>
<p>“Pretty sure, yeah.”</p>
<p>She narrows her eyes. “Next time stay for breakfast,” she mutters before turning on her heel and leaving.</p>
<p>Kent stares after her and wonders if there were ever any art critiques that were friends with artists. Then he shakes his head and looks down at the carrier where Mildred has taken to mewling pathetically. God he loves her so much already. He’s definitely going to make a twitter poll when he gets home to figure out her new name.</p><hr/>
<p>Jeff had wanted to meet at a restaurant but John had informed him that it was either the rink or bust. Which if he’s being honest is probably fair. He did leave him in a lurch all those years ago and doesn’t exactly have grounds to protest anything.</p>
<p>Still, when he parks at the rink, (he’s been trying to drive more in short bursts because his therapist thinks it’s a good idea as long as he feels comfortable with it), an overwhelming sense of dread pools in his stomach. Logically he knows that even if John doesn’t accept his apology that that’s okay. Still, he’s a people pleaser at heart, and the thought of being yelled at, or worse, being met with quiet disappointment, makes him go cold with fear. He’d rather just not know than actually have to deal with it.</p>
<p>He breathes in deeply when he cuts the engine. His therapist thinks this is a good idea. They can debrief this in their meeting on Monday. Everything will be fine. He rests his head against the steering wheel for a moment. </p>
<p>At least it’s a Saturday and the Aces aren’t playing today. He won’t have to risk the potential of running into Kent at least. He’s been more jumpy lately thinking he’s been seeing him in random places, only for it to end up being somebody who just happens to also be blond.</p>
<p>He mostly puts the blame on Birdie for that however. She’d come home from her volunteering work recently and had tried to casually mention the fact that the Aces crew had filmed there. Then she’d asked him if he was positive that his “secret NHL lover” her words- not his, had truly only wanted to be friends with benefits. And then she’d made him recount the entire break up scene all over again which felt like a therapy session all on its own with how she scraped him raw with every question.</p>
<p>But the kicker was how she’d mentioned Kent adopting a cat named Mildred. </p>
<p>He’d created some random excuse to leave for his room after that casual info drop. He’s pretty sure she could put the rest of the pieces of the puzzle together on her own. He just wasn’t going to be around to confirm or deny when she did. He’s pretty sure that’s within the rights of his NDA.</p>
<p>He hopes so anyway.</p>
<p>It doesn’t stop him from stalking Kent’s socials for a few days until he starts posting about the cat non-stop. Apparently her new name is Kit Purrson. It’s terrible and perfect at the same time. He stops stalking him when he almost likes a picture on instagram while scrolling a couple weeks deep into the timeline.</p>
<p>He’s not that desperate.</p>
<p>Still, he’s grateful that Kent’s not here today. It’s just him and John and a bunch of other people that aren’t the hockey players. Still nerve wracking, but at least not impossible to handle.</p><hr/>
<p>John has gray hairs now. Which, the guy’s only in his late twenties, so he’s not sure how that happened. But he’s not going to comment on it. He still has some social grace left. He’s also sitting at a desk that looms in the middle of the room.</p>
<p>John motions for him to sit. </p>
<p>He does.</p>
<p>John looks over papers on his desk and grabs a pen to start writing on them. So that’s how it’s going to be. Jeff swallows.</p>
<p>John glances up, “You said you wanted to meet?”</p>
<p>Jeff nods, not that John notices. “Yeah, I just wanted to apologize.” </p>
<p>John stops writing.</p>
<p>“And you don’t have to accept or anything. That’s fine. I just thought, I mean my therapist kind of agrees too, that it might be good for closure? But again you don’t have to accept it. This is mostly so I can connect with my past to work toward a better future. Or something. I don’t know, I’m kind of drained when I leave that place and shit kind of leaves my head.”</p>
<p>John just stares at him.</p>
<p>“Jesus dude, take a breath,” he says finally, although his grip on the pen loosens ever so slightly.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Jeff says.</p>
<p>“For talking or?”</p>
<p>“For everything,” Jeff begins earnestly.</p>
<p>“Jeff-” he starts.</p>
<p>Jeff doesn’t let him finish. “I’m sorry for leaving you in a lurch after you secured me the position and I’m sorry for moving out on, like, no notice and I’m sorry for saying all this at once.” He can’t help the quirk of a smile that forms there. Whether it’s sardonic or sincere can be left up for interpretation.</p>
<p>John nods slowly. He pulls the pen through the tips of his fingers, scraping blunt fingernails against the white plastic. “I accept your apology. I’m not sure I can forgive you- because you did kind of fuck me over in more ways than one, but I do accept it.”</p>
<p>Jeff stills. That’s, that’s fair. But it also means that John’s not berating him. It’s also still a step above quiet disappointment. If Jeff never lives to see another day, at least he has this. He feels himself flush, his therapist would probably have words to say about that line of thought.</p>
<p>“You okay?” John asks.</p>
<p>Jeff nods, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. “Yeah, it’s just been a lot.”</p>
<p>John sends him a smile of his own. </p>
<p>“Yeah, therapy will do that to ya.”</p>
<p>Jeff peers at him. That had almost felt conspiratorial. “You don’t even know the half of it.”</p>
<p>John barks out a laugh, sharp and succinct. “Why don’t you tell me then?”</p>
<p>Jeff grins back. </p>
<p>“So you remember Daniel?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>References to Jack's overdose</li>
<li>Therapy</li>
<li>Mention of an asshole therapist</li>
</ol>
<p>FYI- if you're confused about why Kent didn't recognize Birdie: they never met and he was told her name was Beatrice, not Birdie. Proof of this can be found in chapter 4. When I wrote this, I purposely made sure to do that, solely so this chapter could happen. </p>
<p>As for <i>why</i> Birdie acted the way she did around Kent, well, you'll just have to see- won't you ;)</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> or on tumblr <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, short, but it sets up some more things coming up. We have to wrap this bad boy up somehow don't we?</p><p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff flips the keys in his hand after he locks up. While he certainly hadn’t been expecting a position of any kind stemming from his apology to John, he’s certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. </p><p>Not that the position is overly fantastic in any true capacity, but it’s at least something. And something is better than nothing considering he’d been hard up as it was trying to find a new job. It turns out that when you quit your job two weeks after starting it to go on a journey of self-discovery with your family in Canada, it doesn’t bode well for future job opportunities.</p><p>His new banquet serving job is horrendous when it comes to organization and there had been at least two separate occasions when he’d shown up to work and they’d tried to claim he was late. When he had proven both times he wasn’t, well, they hadn’t needed him so they’d just sent him home without letting him punch in. </p><p>There had also been a period of time where they just hadn’t scheduled him for an entire week.</p><p>Silver lining at least meant that he had been able to get lunch with John sometime during said week. And if he’d allowed the conversation to be steered towards work because John was stressed, well he just happened to be a good friend. And if he happened to have some decent ideas for management issues John was running into from his time spent at the coffee shop, well he was just a <i>really</i> good friend. </p><p>But in all actuality Jeff recognizes that he's not that socially aware. He definitely hadn’t meant to contemplate how to streamline a hiring process over one of the lunch specials because he was trying to save money. And the whole John squinting at him and rapid fire asking him questions also hadn’t been part of his plans for said lunch. He had more or less figured they’d end up shooting the shit over hockey and debate whether or not the Aces had a shot at going back to back for cup wins. </p><p>(Jeff was of the mind that the Aces had it in them, John had apparently actually been watching them the whole season and wasn’t so sure.)</p><p>But when John had offered him a position, on probation, he’d warned, and only part time, Jeff had jumped at the chance to take it. It was behind the counter during open skate, but if he wanted to show up early or stay late to go through the inventory he was welcome to. Apparently the girl who had been originally hired and was supposed to stay during the summer had to go home, which was in a different state apparently, instead of staying for summer classes. Or something, Jeff doesn’t really remember the details about her. Not when his heart had been pounding as he’d accepted.</p><p>He’d quit his banquet serving job the next day.</p><p>His therapist at least had thought it’d be a good idea. Or at least he thinks she thinks it’s a good idea. The roundabout speech where she asks him if he thinks it’s a good idea is a little confusing to follow sometimes. Regardless, she doesn’t tell him to not take it when he tries to explain his theory on exposure theory. </p><p>She did ask him about his thoughts on exposure therapy with Daniel. His face must’ve done enough talking on its own because she hadn’t managed to stop the laugh that had erupted from her throat. </p><p>“He’s just, just no- the ice never hurt me,” he had tried to explain. He’d just been too hurt and too raw when he’d first tried teaching kids how to skate. But the ice hadn’t been the root cause. And he likes to think that he’s mostly fixed the root cause now.</p><p>He hits the call button on his phone and jams it against his ear. His mom answers with what he assumes is a yawn.</p><p>He tries to stifle his laugh, but probably fails. “What are you doing?” he asks, footsteps echoing through the too silent hall on the way to the parking lot.</p><p>“Trying not to fall asleep,” she laughs back in response.</p><p>“You know you could’ve gone to bed. I would’ve left a message.”</p><p>“But then I wouldn’t have been able to talk to you.”</p><p>He smiles, and nods his head even though she can’t see him.</p><p>“Are you nodding your head?” she asks, as he pushes against a door on the way out.</p><p>“Maybe,” he laughs back in response.</p><p>She snorts, “Well, go on, tell me about your day then.”</p><p>He takes a deep breath in of the cool desert air. It might be heading further into spring, but the nights always sap the warmth from the sand so quickly. He can’t stop smiling.</p><p>“So the inventory,” he starts.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“It’s a mess.”</p><p>She laughs again. He’ll never get tired of hearing it.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent flops over on his side. He tries not to feel shitty about losing to the Sharks two days previous, but if it’s not nausea settling into his stomach from being sick he figures it’s probably him feeling shitty about losing. At least the series had gone to OT in game 7.</p><p>Exiting the playoffs in the first round after winning the cup the year previous sucked. But at least they could say they’d put in a good, solid effort. He’d had to call his therapist the next morning to let her know that she wasn’t going to have to talk him off the ledge.</p><p>She’d told him that she hadn’t been worried but she appreciated his thoughtfulness. Then she’d reminded him about his promise for trying out some meds. He’d just rattled off a tired promise.</p><p>He’d called his mom next, leaving a message when she didn’t answer right away. Which, right, she was probably at work. They hadn’t been able to reconnect until later that night, the flight home and the wallowing having been draining enough, even if, thank God, San Jose wasn’t time zones away from Vegas.</p><p>Mikayla had been very smug that the Rangers had managed to sweep Pittsburgh in their first round. He let her have it. He remembered the feeling of having swept LA the year previous.</p><p>His mom had thanked him for his efforts in keeping in touch. He hadn’t mentioned the therapy. Maybe when he went to see her in a month or two. Sometimes the thought of admitting to needing help was too embarrassing. So he just kept kind of pushing it off.</p><p>Kit yowls from somewhere within his house. Probably in the kitchen he figures. She never let him put things off. An incredibly particular cat, he had to pay his sitter extra solely because she was a quote on quote “problem child”. </p><p>He probably didn’t help anything by spoiling her.</p><p>He rolls out of bed, instead of face planting into his pillow like he desperately wishes he could do more than anything. The queen does not take lightly to being fed late. That and he kind of has to do locker clean out in an hour.</p>
<hr/><p>Kyle bumps into him in the parking lot looking frantic because apparently he had to talk one of the rookies down last night. Kent shoots him a worried look.</p><p>“Is the kid okay?”</p><p>Kyle nods, “Yeah, I already saw him walking into the rink.”</p><p>Kent exhales.</p><p>“It’s just,” Kyle continues, “What do I do if I can’t talk them down?”</p><p>Kent half tunes him out, not on purpose, it’s just he’s hit by a sudden sense of deja vu he can’t quite place. He’s not entirely sure why the fender bender mark on an otherwise nondescript Cadillac sitting in the parking calls to him. He stops in front of the backend of the car and only snaps back into attention when Kyle elbows him.</p><p>“What? Oh, sorry, kind of spaced out there,” he shakes himself. He takes both of his hands and places them on Kyle’s shoulders. “I need you to know it’s never your job to talk somebody down. You can, but in some cases it might be better for a player to get professional help. There’s a team psychiatrist for a reason.” </p><p>He doesn’t wince at the mention of the psychiatrist, a reminder of his appointment that’s set for later in the week, but it’s a close thing. Kyle at least doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“But I have an A,” he says so earnestly Kent’s heart all but breaks.</p><p>He shakes his head, “That doesn’t mean you have to be a superhero kid.” Kyle still doesn’t seem appropriately appeased, so Kent continues. “Look, take it from me. As a C to his A, you don’t have to solve everyone’s problems. Sometimes you have your own shit to work on and that’s okay. People have degrees in this shit for a reason.”</p><p>Kyle’s quiet for a moment. “Does it really work?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Going to a head doctor?”</p><p>Kent squints at him, “Do you mean therapy or head doctor as in concussions?”</p><p>“Therapy,” he answers quickly.</p><p>Kent’s quiet for a moment, “Yeah kid, yeah it does,” he finally answers. When he can’t take the silence that follows, her ruffles Kyle’s hair. “Now come on, locker clean out and all that jazz.”</p><p>Kyle laughs, calling for a race to the building. Kent lets him go on ahead. He turns his head to check the car one last time. It’s presence weighs heavily on him as he tries to figure out where it’s supposed to be filed in his memory. </p><p>He shakes his head. Right, locker clean out. He can worry about the car later. Plus Kyle calls him a loser since he lost the race and well he can’t have that, so it quickly dissolves into a chirping war.</p><p><i>Next year</i>, he promises himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
<li>Therapy</li>
<li>Mentions of getting prescribed medication</li>
<li>Mentions of talking someone down</li>
</ol><p>Yeah Jeff quit his banquet serving job that quickly. I 100% projected onto that, but I'll never tell where. My reasons for putting my two weeks in weren't the same as Jeff's (they never told me I was late when I wasn't or that they didn't need me when I'd already shown up) but there were enough other things that had gone down that I left without a job lined up. Luckily I was in the position to do so.</p><p>As for Kent- wow, wonder what that moment in the parking lot could possibly mean? Maybe you'll find out next chapter. Stay tuned to find out ;)</p><p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> or on tumblr <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's a slight flashback scene, but it's labeled after the cut as "Earlier in the week" and when we return to before the flashback started it's labeled as "Present day". Hope that's not too confusing for anyone.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kent twists uncomfortably in his chair as he sits under his therapist’s watchful gaze. She elevates an eyebrow and he tries to settle in response. But his heart continues to beat too fast, like it’s racing towards a finish line that keeps getting pushed back further and further.</p>
<p>“How are you today, Kent?” she asks, the same as she does every time they start a session.</p>
<p>“I need to talk to you about something,” he blurts out, completely avoiding her question. Because honestly, he’s not even sure how he is today. Excited? Nervous? Confused? At minimum confused, but that doesn’t even feel like it begins to encompass the entirety of his current emotional state. </p>
<p>She nods slowly, “Okay.”</p>
<p>He’s used to her letting him take the reigns in the appointments by now, and knows to take that as confirmation to continue.</p>
<p>“So I’m gay, right?”</p>
<p>“That is what you told me, yes.”</p>
<p>He winces, remembering how he’d finally broken down and asked her if he could see the NDA she’d supposedly signed because he couldn’t explain what happened in December fully without seeing it. And not that he didn’t believe her, but he couldn’t be too careful. She’d shown him willingly, and after that he’d spent the rest of the appointment and the following ones explaining his relationship with Jack. </p>
<p>Apparently that had only confirmed her thoughts in that he had abandonment issues.</p>
<p>He hadn’t mentioned Jeff. Mostly because the original appointment had ended after its allotted time. And if it hadn’t come up again because it was still kind of embarrassing, well, he figured he was allowed his secrets. Just, who gets emotional over an ex-friend with benefits? Certainly not him. (Definitely him, but like, she didn’t need to know that- and he definitely didn’t want to admit that).</p>
<p>“I, uh, I mean there might have been a friends with benefits situation I was part of,” he pauses to do the calculations in his head and his stomach drops out, “Roughly this time last year.”</p>
<p>She remains silent, as though she knows that he’s not entirely done word vomiting.</p>
<p>“And it’s definitely over, but my feelings also definitely aren’t,” he admits.</p>
<p>“Is it safe to assume that this person was not Jack?” she asks.</p>
<p>He nods his head a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, no, I mean, it wasn’t Jack. You can definitely assume that. His name was Jeff?” his voice goes high, as though it’s almost a question even though it’s definitely not. He shakes his head. “I mean, his name is Jeff,” he feels shaky all over admitting it.</p>
<p>“Okay. So what’s brought this to the forefront of your mind?”</p>
<p>He lets out a shaky exhale. “Well,” he begins.</p><hr/>
<p>
  <i>Earlier in the week</i>
</p>
<p>Kent’s helping Alanna lace up her skates because she’d asked him if he could take her to do what he did on TV. He hadn’t had the heart to inform her that she was a little too tiny for that, but had agreed to take her at least skating.</p>
<p>She kicks every now and then as he tries to tie them properly and he wonders if he was always this much of a problem for his mom. Frankly, he’s not sure how she managed to raise him and work two jobs. He can barely get his shit together enough to take Alanna out when he’s in charge of babysitting her. He wonders briefly if there’s an option to be considered for godfather after the kid’s already born before he finishes tying them up.</p>
<p>“Alright kiddo,” he says patting her leg, “We can get out there now.”</p>
<p>She tugs at the strap on her helmet. “But I don’t wanna wear this,” her pout forming in ridiculous fashion.</p>
<p>“You really think you’re that good of a skater already?”</p>
<p>She nods her head, steely eyes staring straight ahead.</p>
<p>He laughs. “Hey, I’m a professional and still wear them.”</p>
<p>“You’re not right now,” she protests stubbornly.</p>
<p>“That’s because Kyle’s bringing me one.”</p>
<p>He’s mostly going to wear one because his face won’t be as easy to distinguish between everyone else’s during open skate, but if it gets the stubborn six-year old to wear hers, he’ll take what he can get.</p>
<p>“Kyle?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Another hockey player,” he explains.</p>
<p>She nods, “As long as he won’t embarrass us.”</p>
<p>Kent chokes off a laugh at that. He can’t allow for her to just say whatever she wants about adults. Carmen had been adamant about that, it’s just, she’s really fucking funny sometimes and it’s hard not to let her get away with whatever she wants.</p>
<p>Kent leads her out onto the ice. She looks shifty between him and the entrance as she holds onto the orange cone she’s been given for safety measures. He’ll help her off of it when she wants, she’s just incredibly independent and he has no issue in letting her figure something like this out on her own. Kyle finally shows up with a rented helmet for Kent even though he’s decked out in his actual hockey gear. Alanna looks far more appeased after Kent shoves it onto his head.</p>
<p>“Damn, couldn’t be bothered to get me one from storage?” he asks.</p>
<p>Kyle at least has the wherewithal to look abashed. “Uh, there’s normally a girl who works the open skate and I was hoping to see her.”</p>
<p>Kent shoots him a look but figures there are worse things for him to get into. “Well, was she?” he asks.</p>
<p>Kyle shakes his head. “Nah, some new guy named Jeff.”</p>
<p>Kent almost falls flat on his ass.</p>
<p>“You okay?” Kyle asks, worry obvious all over his face.</p>
<p>Kent breathes in and out slowly. “Yeah, just remembered something is all.”</p>
<p>If he’s a little out of it the rest of the time and forces Kyle to take his helmet back <i>in case there’s a split shift or something and you get to see that girl</i>, well, nobody has to know his true reasoning.</p><hr/>
<p>
  <i>Present day</i>
</p>
<p>“And you’re worried that this Jeff might be the same Jeff you were sleeping with this time last year, correct?”</p>
<p>Kent shakes his head in agreement, feels the rush that the admittance provides run through him. “I’m honestly not even sure it is him. Tons of people are named Jeff, right?”</p>
<p>“That seems like a fair assessment,” she responds.</p>
<p>“So it might not even be him,” he amends.</p>
<p>“Correct,” she pauses, “However, what if it is him?”</p>
<p>And that’s the kicker, what’s he going to do if it is Jeff? He can’t just avoid open skate. Sure Scraps had been the one to buy Alanna the equipment she has now, but what happens if she needs to rent something because she’s outgrown it inbetween skating sessions? Kids grow fast, right? Like weeds. He’s pretty sure he’s heard that line somewhere. And it’s not like he can always be sure that somebody else will be there with him and able to go in his stead.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure,” he finally admits.</p>
<p>“And why is that?”</p>
<p>He lets out a long sigh. He’s going to have to explain how it ended and the December thing. Isn’t he?</p>
<p>“It didn’t end great,” he explains.</p>
<p>“In what way?”</p>
<p>“He,” he pauses, “There was somebody else.”</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I mean we weren’t exclusive so I’m not mad or anything, it’s just I was a little hurt. But also I can’t complain, at least not really, since I was the one who made the stipulation that it was friends with benefits only and then never told him when my feelings changed.”</p>
<p>“And why didn’t you tell him when your feelings changed?”</p>
<p>He feels a flush run across his face and he just knows that it has to extend down the rest of his body. “I thought that maybe showing him that we could be good at dating without mentioning it until afterwards was a good idea,” he hangs his head even as he says it, it sounds so ridiculous.</p>
<p>To his therapist’s credit she doesn’t say anything to claim that he’s ridiculous. Just nods some more and asks, “And how did that work out?”</p>
<p>“The not-date date was great,” he admits. He feels himself go cold as he remembers what’s coming next, “But then I saw him not long after that with a different guy at his place of work and he ended things that night, so.”</p>
<p>“And you’re sure that the reason this guy he was with at his place of work was romantic in nature?”</p>
<p>Kent’s actually not one hundred percent sure, but then, he’s not sure of a lot of things. Still he nods his head slowly, following her leading questions like a lifeline. “Pretty sure,” he finally settles on.</p>
<p>She nods again thoughtfully. </p>
<p>“So nothing has happened since?” she finally asks.</p>
<p>And there it is. He desperately wants to disappear right about now. He’s definitely going to have to bring up the December <i>thing</i> if he doesn’t want to blatantly lie. And the look she has in her eye tells him that she’ll know if he tries to bullshit her.</p>
<p>“I, uh, got drunk, in December,” he manages to choke out.</p>
<p>“Before or after your meeting with Jack?”</p>
<p>“After,” he confirms. “I had just lost my game point streak.”</p>
<p>She narrows her eyes in confusion.</p>
<p>“How many games you score in, in a row,” he quickly explains.</p>
<p>She nods in understanding.</p>
<p>“Anyway, I lost my game point streak, got black out drunk and,” he pauses as he tries to grasp a thread of a memory that’s always eluded him before. </p>
<p><i>A hoodie?</i> He thinks to himself. He already knew that, that’s what he left in Jeff’s bathroom.</p>
<p>And then it slams into him.</p>
<p>Flashes of memory of him staring forlornly at a phone screen that’s far too bright. Trying to google the coffee shop Jeff used to work at, sitting in the back of a stranger’s car, breaking down outside of said coffee shop, crying into the phone after frantically calling Jeff. The car that had rolled up with Jeff driving it. </p>
<p><i>The car that was in the parking lot</i>, he thinks for one split second before the next memory slams into him again. </p>
<p>Him sitting in the passenger’s seat. The way Jeff had looked over at him in the neon lights of Vegas and told him he loved him. How he’d specifically asked Jeff to crawl into bed with him.</p>
<p>He can’t breathe. He’s, how the fuck did he miss all of that? And why is it back now? </p>
<p>“Holy shit, Scraps was right,” is all he can manage to get out. If he thought his heart was racing towards the finish line before, it’s definitely on its last ditch effort sprint right now.</p>
<p>“Scraps was right about what?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure Jeff actually wanted to end things,” he says quietly, terrified that if he says it out loud he’ll jinx it.</p>
<p>“Oh, and why is that?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I had all the information before,” he says slowly.</p>
<p>“And you think you do now?”</p>
<p>“At least more than before,” he admits.</p>
<p>She clasps her hands together over her knee and leans forward in her seat. “Well, then, what are your plans moving forward?”</p>
<p>A laugh bubbles up from inside him, “Honestly I’m not even sure.”</p>
<p>“Then let’s talk it out.”</p><hr/>
<p>His therapist thinks it’s a good idea to ease back into this. To definitely not ambush Jeff seeing as he has no idea what’s happened since December. Which is definitely something to keep in mind. But Kent’s never been good with patience, and the more he thinks about that night, the more he remembers.</p>
<p>It becomes like a scab he can’t stop picking at. Dissecting every moment, like a frame by frame analysis of a movie. Which is why, when Scraps asks if he wants to go skating with him and Alanna, he jumps on the chance. Only to spend the next three days lamenting over what exactly he’s just done.</p>
<p>At least he remembers his own equipment and doesn’t have to rent anything this time. He only feels a little disappointed when Scraps remembers all of Alanna’s equipment as well as his own. </p>
<p>He does however break roughly five minutes into the free skate when Alanna takes off to skate by herself. Scraps watches her like a hawk, but Kent only waits a beat before beginning to talk.</p>
<p>“So have you seen the new guy at the rental desk?” he aims for casual and misses by a mile, if the look on Scraps’ face is anything to go off of.</p>
<p>He turns slightly and wriggles his eyebrows seductively. “Is new guy cute?” he asks.</p>
<p>Kent knows he flushes but tries to keep the strangled notes out of his voice. “I actually haven’t seen him, that’s why I was asking.” He should’ve known better than to bring it up like that, Scraps is far too invested in his love life currently and any guy who he thinks Kent might be interested in is immediately shoved in Kent’s face. Scraps is nice, but he has exactly zero subtlety.</p>
<p>“If say so,” Scraps sing songs.</p>
<p>Alanna skates up at that moment to show them how she can kind of skate backwards now. Not really, it’s barely a wriggle, but they praise her like she’s a professional and she shoots off all excited again.</p>
<p>Scraps turns back to him and Kent sighs. “Fine, when I came here last time with Kyle he rented me a helmet because he wanted to flirt with the girl who normally works the desk, but said she wasn’t there. Apparently some guy name Jeff was instead and-”</p>
<p>“You think might be your Jeff,” Scraps finishes for him.</p>
<p>The thought of Jeff being his hits him low in the gut. God he’s still so gone on the guy. “Yeah, exactly,” he manages to finish.</p>
<p>“I check!” Scraps says cheerily, skating off before Kent can try to talk him out of it.</p>
<p>Kent takes to watching Alanna struggle in one of the corners so he swoops in to help her. He desperately needs to not think about what Scraps is doing right now and how he’s not prepared for the answer regardless if it’s his Jeff or not. This, at least, is a welcome distraction.</p>
<p>“Here,” he says leading her more towards the middle, “The ice near the sides gets beat up faster by the new skaters who aren’t comfortable being in the center. See, it’s smoother out here.”</p>
<p>Scraps comes back and praises Alanna on her progress but doesn’t say anything about the rental desk guy. Alanna takes off on her own again and Scraps turns to him, a large grin encompassing his face.</p>
<p>Kent sighs. “Out with it, I know you want to tell me.”</p>
<p>“Is your Jeff,” he says excitedly.</p>
<p>Kent feels the world spin and lurches forward to cling onto Scraps for support. Only they immediately both go down. </p>
<p>Alanna skates up, “How are you good enough to be on tv if you fall down like this?” she asks.</p>
<p>Kent looks between Scraps and her and shrugs. “Honestly kid, not entirely sure.”</p>
<p>The fall and subsequent struggle to get up at least serves the purpose of distracting Scraps. As does everything else following that moment. At least until they get everything loaded up back into the car. Alanna promptly falls asleep and Kent half wishes he could join her.</p>
<p>“Want me talk to him?” Scraps asks as Kent eases the car out of the parking lot.</p>
<p>“Talk to who?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.</p>
<p>“Jeff,” Scraps responds, obviously annoyed.</p>
<p>“No,” Kent sighs, “I will.” </p>
<p>He owes Jeff that much, what with walking out of the condo after he’d apparently bared his soul. God he’s going to have so much groveling to do. He stares straight out of the windshield, turning his thoughts over like gears in a mechanical clock trying to work properly for the first time in ages. If there’s anyone that deserves that level of groveling, it’d be Jeff, he thinks definitively. </p>
<p>Now he just has to figure out how to do just that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>Therapy</li>
<li>Mentions of that night where Kent got blackout drunk</li>
</ol>
<p>I actually wasn't 100% sold on Kent remembering by the time I got to this chapter. Yes I'd written clues leading up to this point (there's a throwaway line in 22 about deja vu, and the car last chapter as referenced again here) but I figured I could just delete them on an edit pass through if Kent ended up not remembering. But Kent wanted to remember and in a weird twist of irony- I do not remember half of what I wrote in this chapter. I re-read it yet again and just stared because the entire section with Alanna and Kent's back and forth is a blur to me. Wild.</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> or on tumblr <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If this is cohesive it'll be a miracle because it's currently 1 am and I'm about to pass out thanks to the Benadryl I took for my allergies. I guess as a disclaimer don't follow any medical advice I provide in this fic or in my beginning/end notes, or at all really. I'm not a doctor.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kent knows that he has to talk to Jeff, but that doesn’t mean he knows how exactly he’s going to do that. So he takes the coward’s way out, mostly because he panic blurts out when he runs into who he’s pretty sure is Jeff’s boss. At the very least, even if the guy isn’t Jeff’s boss, Kent knows that he works in the offices and will know who Jeff’s boss actually is.</p>
<p>Luckily he hits the nail directly on the head the first go around.</p>
<p>John stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Which is impressive since he’s pretty sure he was part of the group that dealt with Kent’s long drawn out rambling explanation of what he knew about where Jack was planning on signing a while back.</p>
<p>“You want me to tell you when Jeff works because you want to be able to leave him a birthday present without telling him who it’s from?” he finally asks.</p>
<p>Kent swallows uncomfortably. Being around management no matter their role in the office always puts him on edge. Any wrong move and they could trade him at a moment’s notice. But this is for Jeff, and if he wants to be able to prove himself worthy, he has to be willing to put himself out there. No matter how ridiculous this whole setup has to appear.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he says, drawing out the syllable definitely longer than necessary.</p>
<p>John stares at him for a moment longer, curiosity taking over his features. “How’d you even know it’s almost his birthday?”</p>
<p>Kent forces himself to hold his gaze. “We used to play hockey together,” he responds as blandly as possible. </p>
<p>He’s not about to get into the logistics of how he’d all but hired a private investigator, (that’d be creepy), in his search for how he could possibly approach Jeff again. Luckily a deep dive of the internet held the information he’d been looking for and he hadn’t had to resort to such drastic measures. Turns out, his birthday was literally right around the corner. Kent feels like his skin is too tight and that everything itches when he thinks about how Jeff had decided it wasn’t worth mentioning while they were hooking up. </p>
<p>So he figures it’s as good as any place to start with the groveling.</p>
<p>Something unrecognizable passes across John’s face, but a smile follows shortly afterward. “And you don’t want him to feel weird that you’re giving him a gift when you’re in the NHL and he isn’t, right?”</p>
<p>Kent latches onto that and nods a little too forcefully, “Yeah exactly.”</p>
<p>John snorts but Kent mostly ignores it because he absolutely can’t believe he’s getting away with this right now. “He works every open skate because we’re still in the process of hiring extra people.” Kent goes to open his mouth in thanks when John stops him. “But sometimes he comes in earlier or stays later to fix the inventory, dude loves math.”</p>
<p>Kent doesn’t rock forward and up off his heels, but it’s a close thing. He bites his tongue from fiercely biting out that he knows. He knows that Jeff could be a card shark if he chose to, but his morales are too high, even if he lives in fucking Las Vegas. And he gets it, Jeff’s too good for him, but for once in his goddamn life he’s putting everything into being somebody who’s worthy of somebody like Jeff.</p>
<p>Instead he just pastes a smile on and nods his head. “Yeah, thanks for the heads up though. See ya around,” he punctuates his departure with a wave. He refuses to allow John to realize that his heart is beating in his throat.</p>
<p>“Hey Kent,” John calls after him.</p>
<p>Kent stops short of the end of the hallway.</p>
<p>“Yes?” he asks, turning slightly back towards him.</p>
<p>“If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to let management know. We’re one hundred percent behind you, you know. What with you being the heart and soul of the team and all.”</p>
<p>Kent tries his best not to grimace and forces himself to nod slowly and grit out, “Thanks, of course.” He’s never been good at accepting praise. Particularly not when he doesn’t feel worthy of it, and especially not when he’s already feeling shitty about something else.</p>
<p><i>I would be a terrible spy</i>, he thinks to himself as he rounds a corner. He feels nauseous and like he’s going to be sick to his stomach. <i>Definitely wouldn’t last a day as one</i>, he finally decides when the shaking subsides.</p>
<p>Still, he got the information he needed, so maybe just a mediocre one.</p><hr/>
<p>Still, he’s a terrible gift giver, especially when he’s trying to come up with something thoughtful. Normally he just throws money into the void until a gift sticks. He says as much to Scraps during one of their lunch dates where he’s moping because Carmen took Alanna to see her mom for the weekend. </p>
<p>He probably understands half of the analogies Kent is using, but at least he’s willing to listen. He’s also not talking about how he misses Carmen and Alanna, so Kent will take the wins as they come. </p>
<p>“You need gift idea?” he finally asks, looking up from his borscht. </p>
<p>So what if Kent purposely took him to his favorite restaurant to try to make him feel better? He’s trying to be a better friend and that includes being intune with their feelings and helping them feel better and shit when they’re down. His therapist thinks it’s a good idea in working against his fears of abandonment at least.</p>
<p>Kent looks up from his food, “Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Who gift for?”</p>
<p>Kent drops his gaze but manages to keep his voice clear, “Jeff,” he admits.</p>
<p>“Get new cards,” Scraps says with a shrug.</p>
<p>Kent turns his head to the side. “What?”</p>
<p>“Jeff good at cards. Too good. Would take money if we play for. Maybe he want practice more while he work when not busy?” He pauses, “Or even for fun not at work,” he concludes.</p>
<p>Kent peers at him and nods slowly, “Honestly, not a half bad idea.” He plops a dumping into his mouth. It’ll show that he remembers what Jeff likes and that he values him for his intelligence and not just their chemistry in bed.</p><hr/>
<p>He slides the stack of different decks of cards across the counter. It had been extremely easy to find decks of cards in Vegas, the problem then became which ones to buy. So he had just ended up buying roughly 10 in a fit of confusion. </p>
<p>There’s a print out from somewhere online exclaiming “<b>Happy Birthday Jeff</b>” in bold typeface. Kent might not have been spy worthy material, but he knows at least to not leave his handwriting if he doesn’t want to spoil the surprise.</p>
<p>It’s going to take more than one gift to get the groveling underway, and he’s not willing to cut this, whatever this is, short. He at least needs to make it last until Thursday, Jeff’s actual birthday, where he’s catering in Jeff’s favorite dishes from local restaurants.</p>
<p>Somebody’s footsteps start their echoing crescendo towards him. He freezes for a split second before bolting, or in reality, fast walking in the opposite direction, and turning a corner as soon as possible.</p><hr/>
<p>“And I just don’t know what to get him for tomorrow,” he grouses into the phone at his sister Julie. </p>
<p>He can all but hear the huff of annoyance she gives him in return, as if to say, <i>this is what you pulled me away from my homework for?</i> </p>
<p>“And why are you doing this?” she asks, again.</p>
<p>“Because I need to, like, grovel,” he says, going quieter towards the end. </p>
<p>He’s still stirring the spaghetti sauce in the pan, which had been the original reason he’d ended up calling her in the first place. He’d been far too embarrassed to admit to his mother that he had been relying on other sources of food other than homemade for far too long. Julie, while she’d chirp him, wouldn’t make him feel like he’d made bad life choices in regard to how he consumed his food. Or at least, he hadn’t thought she would, but he knows it’s coming in the silence that follows his admission.</p>
<p>“Kent,” she begins. He sucks in a breath. “Have you thought of just talking to him? It seems like you kind of leap to worst case scenarios. And maybe he wants to get back together or maybe he doesn’t. But either way you’ll know and you won’t have to keep dragging yourself over the metaphorical coals.”</p>
<p>He blinks back tears as he turns the burner down. “I just want to show him I’m serious about this.”</p>
<p>“And talking should do just that!” she exclaims.</p>
<p>“I will talk to him, it’s just, I want to kind of butter him beforehand.”</p>
<p>He hears her sigh through the connection. “Have you discussed this with your therapist?”</p>
<p>He feels his skin go clammy, because while he kind of has, he hasn’t explained in full detail what he’s been planning.</p>
<p>“That’s a no then,” another pause, “Fine, but if you don’t talk to him by the end of the week I’m flying out there and confronting him myself.”</p>
<p>He barks out a laugh. “Aren’t you in school?”</p>
<p>“College gets out in like, early May, buckeroo,” she snarks back easily.</p>
<p>He snorts, “Oh, and you can just swing a ticket all the way to Vegas and back, hunh?”</p>
<p>“Well now I can, since I got a random scholarship for my study abroad program this summer.”</p>
<p>“The money you’d already saved was supposed to be spending money while you were away,” he says immediately.</p>
<p>“Oh, so you admit then that you were the reason why I got a random scholarship nobody has ever heard of before.”</p>
<p>“I never said that.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so then you don’t mind if I splurge on a ticket to see my favorite brother?”</p>
<p>“I’m your only brother.”</p>
<p>“Good thing too, because Mikayla and Lyndsey have to fight for the spot of favorite sister, and I’m honestly not sure you’d be able to hold your weight if you had to contend for yours.”</p>
<p>Kent can’t help the laugh that falls out from him. “Fine, yes, I paid for your study abroad. But I figured you should get to do something fun, and besides I know how this’ll look good on a resumé in the future.”</p>
<p>He thinks he hears some sniffling on the other side of the phone.</p>
<p>“You there?” he asks quietly.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” she answers, voice thick with emotion, “Get him something useful.” There’s another pause, “But for the love of God, if you don’t-”</p>
<p>“Talk to him, yeah I know, you’ll fly down.”</p>
<p>Her laughter bubbles through in bursts and pops like they hit a too strong wind. “Love you,” she whispers into the speaker.</p>
<p>“Love you too. Now what do I do with the sauce?”</p>
<p>“Oh my God, just pour it over the cooked noodles you ignoramoose.”</p><hr/>
<p>He’s far too pleased with how the markers, pens, and pencils look lined up against each other, stacked next to them a bunch of paper notebooks. Julie had said to get something useful. And John had mentioned Jeff going through the inventory and while Kent’s pretty sure there’s some program, Jeff had always seemed more tactile in his learning. Preferring real cards to even the phone games. </p>
<p>Although that might’ve had something to do with the actual counting of the cards.</p>
<p>Regardless, it’s too late to back out now. Especially since he can hear shuffling somewhere in the backroom and if he stays any longer he’ll end up caught red-handed. Besides, he knows that Jeff likes things orderly and this will help him with whatever he’s working on. Whether that’s the inventory problem at the rink or whatever, he just wants to be helpful. Maybe even show him that they can work well together like this.</p>
<p>He straightens the card on top one last time, (signed with his non-dominant hand), before booking it down the hallway the opposite way he went last time. He’s probably being paranoid but it can’t hurt just in case somebody notices him walking suspiciously down the same hallway two days in a row. </p>
<p>The adrenaline of it all makes him shake even as he pulls out of the parking lot. He really is not cut out for anything like this, he thinks half forlornly.</p><hr/>
<p>He has Alanna curled up against his chest as they watch yet another princess movie. He thinks that there’s two this time, a real bargain with this one, and yet she’s still falling asleep all but on top of him.</p>
<p>“Didn’t know there could be two princesses in one of these,” he says mostly to make conversation.</p>
<p>She pushes away from his chest. “One of them is a queen,” she says so decisively he feels the whiplash of it. </p>
<p>“Sorry, I was unaware,” he replies, trying to appease her.</p>
<p>“Well you weren’t paying attention then,” she all but mocks against his chest, mumbling into his shirt.</p>
<p>“I guess you’re right,” he admonishes in the end. </p>
<p>She nods warily, before dozing off again.</p>
<p>He looks down at her. “Hey,” she glances back up at him, “What should I get someone for their birthday?”</p>
<p>She narrows her eyes. “Is this somebody you love?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he replies honestly.</p>
<p>“Get them flowers,” she says, with devastating sincerity.</p>
<p>“Flowers?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Mama always likes it when she gets from Sacha,” the words are slurred with sleep and make it hard to decipher. Mostly, it’s because he’s not used to hearing Scraps’ real name being used outside an announcer listing it off. </p>
<p>“Right,” he agrees, “that’s honestly not a bad idea.”</p>
<p>She’s already passed out on top of him, but he could swear that she smiles even in her sleep.</p><hr/>
<p>He feels pretty good about the whole getting to the rink early thing. It turns out it costs a lot more than you’d think to do a rush order on a flower arrangement in Vegas, but he gets it done. For better or worse the person working on his doesn’t make any noise about who they’re making the arrangement for.</p>
<p><i>Probably for the better</i>, he decides as he buckles the arrangement into the passenger seat of his car. He doesn’t need the hockey blogs to get wind of this and try to figure out who he’s giving it to. Although if pressed he’ll probably blurt out that they’re a pick up for Carmen and Scraps. </p>
<p>He hopes it doesn’t come to that.</p>
<p>The parking lot is blissfully empty when he finally pulls in. No Cadillac with a fender bender which means he’s earlier than Jeff. He has what’s essentially a pep in his step as he walks into the building, holding the flowers close to his chest. He feels giddy and buoyant, like that moment when he scores a goal and right before everybody on ice slams into him.</p>
<p>He takes his time fixing the flowers and leaves until they don’t look quite as droopy. He’d get more water for them, but he doesn’t want to accidentally over water them. He thinks that’s a thing anyway, he’d kind of rushed the florist through the explanation in an attempt to beat Jeff to the rink. And at this rate he’s probably running a little later than he’d like what with all the time he’s just spent sprucing the plant.</p>
<p>He fixes the card in the middle, not his handwriting, but the florist’s this time before turning to leave. He freezes in his tracks.</p>
<p>“Hello Kent,” Jeff says standing there taller than Kent remembers with a coffee in one hand and one of the notebooks he’d bought him in the other.</p>
<p>Kent wishes that either the floor would open up and swallow him whole or that he’d get his limbs to move. But instead he just stands there glancing between Jeff and the flowers. He opens his arms up in a show of surrender, half shrugging as he goes. </p>
<p>“Surprise?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>The background worry of being outed</li>
<li>Mentions of therapy</li>
</ol>
<p>Not that anyone particularly cares, but that line in chapter 7 where Kent wonders if Jeff likes roses after he marks him up is foreshadowing for the end of this chapter. Going to be honest and can't say for sure if I did that on purpose or not, because I only have so much storage in my brain at any given moment, but it's a thing.</p>
<p>Also- sorry, but I couldn't resist one last cliffhanger. I've had Kent doing jazz hands over a bouquet of flowers in my notes since I wrote out the outline and I figured this part should go out with a bang. Imagine if this was chapter 26 out of like 36 or something. At least y'all know that there's only 2 more chapters left so the happy ending has to pop up at some point between those two remaining.</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> or on tumblr <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had something clever to say at the beginning of this chapter but it's gone. My brain is tired and has decided "no more thoughts- head empty" so here we are. Without further ado- chapter 27.</p>
<p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeff’s never quite had his world view narrow to one singular moment, but he thinks that this would be it. Kent’s staring at him like he’s worried Jeff’s going to kick his dog, or cat in this case, he supposes. There’s a too big arrangement of flowers behind him and his hands are held out in an attempt at what he thinks are either jazz hands or surrender. Jeff’s not entirely sure.</p>
<p>He turns his head to the side, “Have you been leaving the gifts?” he asks when the realization hits him. That at least explains why John had told him not to worry about it when they started to show up.</p>
<p>Kent swallows visibly. “Yeah, uh, I knew it was your birthday and figured it would be a good way to start the groveling off with a bang.”</p>
<p>Jeff looks down at the notebook in his hand and the lukewarm coffee in the other. He sighs and looks back up at Kent who still hasn’t moved a muscle. He moves to set the items down on the counter next to the flowers. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know just how much the entire thing cost, but it’s Kent so he figures it kind of comes with the territory at this rate.</p>
<p>“Come on, let’s get coffee,” he says gesturing his head towards one of the hallways that leads back out to the parking lot.</p>
<p>Kent’s brows furrow, “But,” he starts, pointing towards the cup.</p>
<p>Jeff shrugs, “Kind of over it to be honest. Too cold right now and way too much sugar.”</p>
<p>Kent nods, likely still in shell shock over what’s happening.</p>
<p>“Do we, do we have to drive there?” Kent eventually asks, when they enter the parking lot.</p>
<p>Jeff just shakes his head. “Nah, it’s like a five minute walk from here. More of a coffee shop bakery crossover, probably why it stayed open and the place I worked at didn’t.” </p>
<p>He glances over at Kent. Kent appears lost in thought until he realizes that Jeff is waiting for a response. Kent gives a weak smile in return.</p>
<p>Jeff sighs and stops them. They’re on the sidewalk, not really close to arriving, but he figures it can’t wait any longer. He turns to face Kent, “I need you to know that there was never any need for groveling.</p>
<p>Kent goes to open his mouth.</p>
<p>Jeff shakes his head and continues, “No, they were nice birthday gifts but that’s all they were. There was never any need for groveling. I think we just need to talk this out and figure out where all the misunderstandings came into play.”</p>
<p>Kent sags in relief and nods as enthusiastically as he can. “Yeah, sure, sounds good.”</p>
<p>It takes all of Jeff’s willpower not to kiss him right then and there.</p><hr/>
<p>The coffee shop slash bakery’s quiet. Kent has a feeling Wednesday morning probably isn’t their busiest time. Most of their revenue likely comes from foot traffic of the surrounding businesses or hungry skaters when open skate ends.</p>
<p>He stands rigid next to Jeff and tries not to feel too awkward. Jeff orders black coffee and turns to him offering to pay. He manages to get out “I’ll have the same,” with most of his dignity intact so he considers that a win.</p>
<p>Jeff grabs his coffee first when it slides across from the barista working the other side. He tamps down the jealousy he feels when Jeff smiles at the barista because he’s lucky to be getting this time with him at all. Plus it’s a girl who’s probably 19 and, well, he knows exactly why Jeff wouldn’t be into that.</p>
<p>Kent goes to grab his coffee when it slides across to him as well. Only it’s hotter than he’d expect. He tries to smile at the barista, but probably ends up grimacing instead by the way her face contorts. </p>
<p>He sighs and turns around, already feeling like this whole meeting’s going to be a disaster, no matter that Jeff had tried convincing him that he didn’t feel as though Kent’s groveling was required. Kent knows better than to get his hopes up. He looks up a little too late on the way over to the table set up with creamer and sugar causing him to run directly into Jeff, spilling the coffee all down the front of his shirt.</p>
<p>He tries not to cry, but frankly, it’s a lot. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m such a mess,” he all but half sobs out.</p>
<p>Jeff gets on his knees with napkins to help clean up. </p>
<p>“Hey,” he whispers.</p>
<p>Kent looks up.</p>
<p>“We’re even now,” he says with a crooked smile that sends Kent’s heart racing.</p>
<p>“Wha-”</p>
<p>“I spilled coffee on you. Remember? We’re even now.”</p>
<p>Kent can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him, even if everything about it is wet. God how he’s missed the easy way they fit together.</p>
<p>“But at least I’m not the employee in this situation.”</p>
<p>Jeff laughs in response and Kent silently vows to work everyday to help recreate that for the rest of his life.</p><hr/>
<p>Jeff sits across from Kent, in a secluded area, but against the glass windowpane. He remembers a distant time when he’d been the one warning Kent of people seeing them. There’s power he feels in the sitting where random passersbys can take notice, even if nobody’s walking by at this time of day.</p>
<p>Not that he expects them to see anything noteworthy, even if there were, of course. Friends can sit across from each other at a coffee shop. He hopes they’re still friends, friendly at least. He can handle acquaintances even.</p>
<p>He looks across at Kent, whose hair is a disheveled mess, plaid polo button-up with the sleeves pushed up his arms. Jeff only lingers for a moment on the muscle of his arms, feeling his mouth go dry. He forces himself to look him in the eyes. Kent looks mostly tired and a little like he just got caught crying and didn’t get a chance to finish.</p>
<p>He takes a sip of his coffee. </p>
<p>“So why do you think you need to grovel to me during my birthday week?” he finally asks.</p>
<p>Kent lets out a long sigh and shuts his eyes. He turns his head, “I remembered that night in December.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean you <i>remembered</i> that night in December?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.</p>
<p>Kent turns his head back but ducks it down to look at his new cup of coffee that they’d offered for free after he’d dumped his other one. “When I woke up I didn’t remember the night before. Just that I’d gotten drunk and then I woke up and I was at your place. I panicked because I thought you were just humoring whatever I’d asked you of and that you had a boyfriend waiting for you somewhere.”</p>
<p>Jeff leans forward, unsure of what his face does, just knows that it has to convey his disbelief because Kent takes to playing with a clasp on his watch. “A boyfriend?” he asks incredulously.</p>
<p>“Yeah, that, uh, that guy that you were talking to that night in the coffee shop that you ended it?”</p>
<p>“Ended?” Jeff asks, leaning forward and squinting before he remembers. “Oh the hooking up?” Jeff pauses, “Holy shit, wait you thought that guy was my boyfriend?”</p>
<p>Kent glances up through his eyelashes. “Yeah, you were talking pretty animatedly to him and had told me to wait until you were ready. So I just figured that was what you were hiding.”</p>
<p>Jeff feels his eyes widen on their own accord. “You just thought I was seeing somebody else while we were hooking up?”</p>
<p>“Well I mean, we were just hooking up.”</p>
<p>Jeff shakes his head. “Kent, it stopped being just hooking up when we started living inside of each other’s pockets. You fucking took me to Washington for the Stanley Cup Finals, Jesus. That wasn’t,” he pauses to let out a long sigh, “that wasn’t a boyfriend or fuck buddy or whatever you want to call it at the coffee shop.”</p>
<p>Kent looks up and his face is so hopeful it feels like Jeff’s heart caves in all over again, reliving that evening like a bad nightmare come to life.</p>
<p>“That was my cousin,” he manages to grit out.</p>
<p>Kent looks taken aback. “You broke up with me because of your cousin?”</p>
<p>Jeff shoots him a pointed look, “Well, we weren’t dating. You hadn’t made it known that you wanted more so I figured you would be fine.”</p>
<p>“Fucker, that was a date I took you on.”</p>
<p>Jeff snorts, “Well, sorry but I wasn’t sure since you never told me. I mean yeah I had plans to take you out on a date of my own, but I figured you wouldn’t want to be outed. In the end I just decided to take one for the team that way we’d both move on with our lives cleanly.”</p>
<p>Kent sucks in a breath. “What do you mean you figured I wouldn’t want to be outed?”</p>
<p>“You remember the car crash?”</p>
<p>Kent nods, mostly confused.</p>
<p>“You remember how somebody threatened to out me?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Kent replies slowly.</p>
<p>Jeff breathes in and out slowly. “The night I was threatened to be outed, right before I was supposed to go to the draft, I called my dad to pick me up from the party.”</p>
<p>Kent inhales sharply. “Oh god-”</p>
<p>“And that’s the same night I got into a car crash.”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Kent hisses out.</p>
<p>Jeff just nods. “And the guy you saw in the coffee shop was the same cousin who originally threatened to out me at that same party that night.”</p>
<p>“And he threatened to out me?” Kent asks.</p>
<p>Jeff shakes his head. “No, he had just seen me on the ice after you guys won the cup and was interested in how I had gotten involved with the Aces. Luckily you didn’t hug me on camera. Scraps did though. I managed to convince him that I had met Scraps through a Russian course and that’s how I became good enough friends to justify flying out to Washington for a non-home game celebration.”</p>
<p>Kent thrusts his face into his hands. “Oh my God I’m so dumb, I literally only left that next morning back in December because I thought you were dating that guy.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I know that now.” He shuffles the cardboard around the edge of the cup. “But you said you remembered that night and that’s why?” Jeff looks up to make eye contact with Kent. </p>
<p>He nods his head almost imperceptibly. </p>
<p>“So you remember, what I said then?” Jeff asks, clearing his throat, and not looking at all smooth.</p>
<p>Kent reaches out across the table to grab his hand to stop it from worrying at the cardboard anymore. He thumbs across the top of his knuckles. “Yeah, I, uh, same. I’m in love with you. If that’s what you’re asking.”</p>
<p>Jeff feels the world go still around him. Around them. If he’d thought that the world had been narrow before, this moment’s merely a pinprick in comparison. It’s just them, not even the melody of the coffeeshop can penetrate it. He feels his heart disintegrate and rebuild itself over and over again in the time it takes to clasp his other hand over Kent’s.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he responds, “that’s what I’m asking. I’m still in love with you too, if you’re wondering. But,” he tilts his head to the window.</p>
<p>Kent shrugs, “I’m kind of thinking about coming out.”</p>
<p>It takes everything in Jeff not to splutter. “You are?”</p>
<p>Kent goes to lace his fingers in Jeff’s. “Maybe not to the world yet, but Scraps already knows. And his girlfriend and my therapist and I’ve been toying with telling the new A. Probably management since they’ve been good about the therapy thing and I don’t know if you know John-”</p>
<p>Jeff snorts but tilts his head as if to say <i>go on</i>.</p>
<p>“Well, he said something recently about how they have my back,” his voice goes high as if he doesn’t quite believe it.</p>
<p>Jeff squeezes his hand tighter. “You can trust John. He used to be in the Q, but aged out before you got in. He knows about me and everything that happened with Daniel, uh, my cousin that threatened to out me. John’s a, John’s a good friend and you can trust him.” He nods and feels his throat constrict with emotion.</p>
<p>Kent flushes, “I figure it’s probably best just in case something gets out so PR can be prepared.”</p>
<p>“You’re serious,” Jeff breathes out.</p>
<p>Kent lets out a strangled choking sound, “Always with you.”</p><hr/>
<p>They walk back to the rink, not quite hand in hand, but with elbows brushing a little too close to necessarily be considered just buddies. Kent feels lighter than he has in literal years. And it might be dumb to feel this strongly about somebody, but he thinks his therapist would be pleased with his improvement in not letting his abandonment issues remain front and center of his decision making. </p>
<p>He’s allowed happiness, he decides. No matter how fleeting. He looks up at the formerly wispy clouds that had been overhead earlier, which had grown heavier with rain while they sat in the shop, as they release fat droplets onto the both of them.</p>
<p>He stands still for a moment, savoring the cool feeling on his skin. Jeff grabs his elbow and takes off with him back towards the rink. Kent laughs all the way back, it’s an impossible feeling to not relish in. He feels golden, he decides.</p>
<p>Jeff pulls him underneath an overhang ledge in front of one of the entrances to the building. He snuggles back into Jeff’s hold and feels Jeff place a kiss to the top of his hair.</p>
<p>He turns, breath catching in his throat as he does. Jeff’s hair’s a mess and the t-shirt he’s wearing doesn’t leave much to the imagination, especially now that it’s soaked through. <i>Fuck it</i>, he thinks as he leans up on his tiptoes and goes in for a kiss before he can stop himself. Nobody’s around and the rain’s too heavy for anyone to make out exactly who they are anyway. He snakes his arms around Jeff’s neck and pushes a hand into his hair, just like the way he knows he likes it, and licks into his mouth for dominance. </p>
<p>The fact that he groans should probably be embarrassing, but seeing as Jeff moans again before going back in, means that they’re definitely on even footing here. Kent pulls away first when the strain becomes a bit much and laughs. </p>
<p>“So,” he says, placing his hands on Jeff’s waist.</p>
<p>“Yes?” Jeff asks, moving his hands to encompass Kent’s waist as well. Kent doesn’t shiver, but it’s a close thing.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure what we’re doing,” he starts.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Jeff asks, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“But-”</p>
<p>“But?”</p>
<p>“I’d like to know going forward. And-”</p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p>“How does dinner tonight at 7 sound?”</p>
<p>Jeff grins, bringing up a hand to thumb at Kent’s cheek. “Like I’ll finally be getting that date I wanted to plan for us back last June.”</p>
<p>Kent grins back dopily as Jeff leans down to kiss him this time. He leans into the embrace, feeling it fizz through all of his limbs and down into his curling toes. </p>
<p>He pulls away again, “I love you,” he whispers between the two of them.</p>
<p>Jeff’s smile is blinding, “I love you too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p>
<ol>
<li>The background worry of being outed</li>
<li>Mentions of therapy</li>
</ol>
<p>You know, I feel terrible, because the next chapter isn't even their date that night. The next chapter's the epilogue. I didn't want to really spoil when they'd get back together so I didn't make note of it until now, but hey you're here and they're together so there you go. This chapter completes a couple full circle things that I wanted to happen and the epilogue completes another.</p>
<p>The good news is, however, that I am currently roughly 500 words into writing their date night that occurs directly after this and once I'm finished writing that I'll upload it as well. I started it yesterday and had plans to work on it today but then I ended up watching some hockey and mostly forgot about it until now. Oops.</p>
<p>Anyway, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> or on tumblr <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well- we're here folks. It's complete, although the universe this resides in is not. From the bottom of my heart I just want to thank each and every one of my readers that have followed me through the journey as it was uploaded- as well as anyone that reads it in its entirety afterwards.</p><p>Content/Trigger Warnings at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>June 2016</b>
</p><p>Kent rolls over and directly into Jeff who’s currently passed out on his back. In his half asleep and fully dazed state he snuggles up against the warmth. He gropes around until he finds the comforter that had likely gotten pushed off in the night by Jeff. He pulls it up around his shoulders and presses a kiss against Jeff’s shoulder and sighs in contentment when Jeff’s arm comes up around him to pull him flush against his chest. He falls back asleep to the feeling of Jeff pressing a kiss to his forehead.</p><p>When he wakes up to the sound of an alarm going off some time later he can only groan. Something moves underneath him and as he slowly comes out of his sleep fueled haze he realizes it’s Jeff laughing. </p><p>“Fuck you,” he hisses out, but mostly without heat seeing as he can barely muster the energy to open his eyes.</p><p>Jeff just laughs again in response, but he does turn off the alarm, so he counts that as a win regardless.</p><p>“You’re the one who wanted me to set the alarm early so that way we could have sex,” Jeff points out.</p><p>Kent just groans again. He did say that, when he’d been a little too wired from flying three time zones over and not ready to go to bed yet because he’d wanted to get back on his normal sleep schedule as soon as possible. The only problem being that Jeff was exhausted after pulling an all-nighter the night before trying to finish a paper for his history class. And while Kent was proud of him for deciding to go to college, even if it was just community for now, he definitely preferred it when Jeff’s free time consisted of just hanging out with him.</p><p>Their therapists say it’s healthier for them to have their own things, or whatever. </p><p>But right now the full brunt of his cross country travel is hitting him. Shows him for trying to do a good thing and helping Dave with his opening of a rink for kids who can’t afford to skate otherwise. Apparently his wife giving birth had made him realize that that’s what he’d wanted to do, giving back to the community and all. And if Kent had agreed after making sure Mikayla could join him, well, he was just trying to be around his family more often.</p><p>“Too tired,” he finally mumbles from beneath the burrito that he’s wrapped himself up in.</p><p>A hand comes to rest somewhere on his back while another comes up to thumb his cheek. On autopilot he presses a kiss to the one next to his face. He blinks blearily awake to the sight of Jeff beaming down at him. The fact that it still stirs something in his gut makes him feel warm all over.</p><p>Love is like that moment in the late afternoon sun when everything’s golden he thinks drowsily. The fact that he’d ever considered it to be anything else before feels both distant and absurd.</p><p>“Well I still have to get up,” Jeff says.</p><p>Kent grumbles but rolls off of his chest.</p><p>Jeff moves to straddle his blanket cocoon. “But you can sleep in. If you get up in an hour we can probably still make time for something in the shower.”</p><p>The smirk Jeff gives him almost causes him to wake up enough to be interested. He’s pretty sure he mumbles something about preferring Jeff sleeping next to him and Jeff retorting something about the food, but then there’s another forehead kiss. The weight disappears from the bed shortly thereafter and suddenly sleep isn’t so far away again. </p><p>When he drifts into existence again, it’s to Jeff sitting next to him sipping a cup of coffee. He peeks out of the blankets and lifts his head up off the pillow. He’d somehow managed to roll over onto his stomach after he’d fallen asleep again. </p><p>“No book?” he asks.</p><p>Jeff shakes his head, “Nah, you’re cute enough to watch.”</p><p>“Even when I’m asleep?”</p><p>“Especially then.”</p><p>Kent goes warm all over again, “Is there still time for that shower?”</p><p>Jeff makes a show of checking his wrist even though there’s no watch on it. “Yeah I think we can make that work.”</p><p>Kent all but tackles him after that, his boyfriend’s such a dork, but he’s his. The fact that they even make it into the shower at all is a miracle in itself.</p>
<hr/><p>Kent floats through the rest of the day, carried mostly by a high from his orgasm in the shower. It hadn’t even been a particularly spectacular one, but after a week and a half of just his own hand, having Jeff’s hand on him had felt close to heaven. </p><p>If he purposely wears Jeff’s supposedly lucky sweatshirt because he knows what it does to Jeff’s libido, well, it’s only fair play in return for the photos he got while at an event meant to raise money for kids.</p><p>Jeff shoots him a look but doesn’t say anything as he stirs something on the stove. Kent can’t help but grin as he leans down to scritch at Kit’s head. </p><p>“Did daddy feed you princess?” he asks.</p><p>She lets out what would likely be a mrow on any other cat, but comes out sounding like a haunted rusty motor.</p><p>The fact that Jeff hadn’t been the least bit perturbed by her is amazing in it’s own right. But then, apparently the person who’d shoved her into his lap at the shelter was in fact Jeff’s (now former) condomate. A fact that he hadn’t realized until Jeff had explained to him that Birdie was a nickname for Beatrice, the only way he’d ever referred to her previously.</p><p>Apparently she’d been pissed at him that day at the shelter because she’d seen him walk out that morning after in December. Thus explaining the weird comment about staying for breakfast.</p><p>He had, however, laughed hysterically when he’d realized that a little <i>Birdie</i> had tried to tell him. When he’d finally calmed down enough to ask why she hadn’t just talked to him about it, Jeff had shrugged not knowing the answer.</p><p>Luckily Birdie had explained later, admitting that by the time she’d realized that the main issue was miscommunication she’d lost her chance at having Kent truly listen to her. Not wanting to ruin Jeff’s chances anymore she’d just said something vague enough that she’d hope it would at least get him thinking.</p><p>Regardless, he’d ended up with both Jeff and Kit so he’s not that pressed about it.</p><p>He switches to scritching under her chin when she lifts her head up. “I’m glad to hear that, can’t have my princess not getting fed, after all.”</p><p>Jeff snorts somewhere behind him. Kent straightens up only to be turned around and caged in against the kitchen island. They make out like that, Kent purposely working to mess up Jeff’s hair and Jeff working on biting his lip until they both look thoroughly mussed up.</p><p>Jeff pulls away first, but leans back in to suck a hickey behind his ear. “God the things you do to me,” he breathes in, one hand rubbing possessively along Kent’s side.</p><p>Kent shudders.</p><p>“Why’d we invite everyone over so early again?”</p><p>“Because you figured they’d want to leave early then.”</p><p>Kent harrumphs, crossing his arms petulantly. That is the logic he’d followed, but now it seems dumb when he can’t spend hours in bed either taking his boyfriend apart or being taken apart himself. </p><p>Jeff chuckles, before swiping his thumb across Kent’s lips. Kent nips at it reflexively but doesn’t make a move to go further until Jeff cups his face to kiss him soundly.</p><p>“We still need drinks,” Jeff says, sounding just as disappointed as Kent feels about having to stop making out.</p><p>Kent sighs and drops his head into Jeff’s chest. No amount of pretending that this party isn’t what it is will make the reality of it change. And while there’s a part of him that’s glad the Aces didn’t even make the playoffs because of the narrative that would’ve followed them the entire time since Jack’s team did, a shit ton of injuries and guys being pulled up from the farm team way too early had made sure of that, it still feels weird to watch the playoffs when his team hadn’t even been a contender for a wildcard spot.</p><p>“Laney still coming?” he asks, lifting his head up to press a kiss to the underside of Jeff’s chin.</p><p>He feels Jeff nod more than he sees. “Yeah, make sure you get that sparkling water she likes. Whatever it’s called. Gotta make sure the new girl feels comfortable and all.”</p><p>Kent snorts and pulls away. Laney and Kyle dating is hardly a new phenomenon. After she came back for school in the fall and started back up working part time with Jeff at the rink again Kent had managed to convince Kyle to just ask her out. It was simpler that way, he’d tried explaining. And if anyone would know that, it’d be him.</p><p>“You’re just saying that because she got you hooked on them and you want the leftovers for yourself.”</p><p>Jeff waggles his eyebrows, “I neither confirm nor deny.”</p><p>“Birdie?” he asks.</p><p>Jeff shakes his head, “Nah, apparently she’s excited to have the condo to herself tonight since Laney’s coming here and has a date night planned.”</p><p>“With Anderson?”</p><p>Jeff nods in confirmation this time, “The one and only.”</p>
<hr/><p>Truth be told, if it wasn’t Scraps and Kyle all but begging to have a party, Kent probably wouldn’t have put it together. He’d been half following the Falconers cup run, if only because everywhere he turned there was a reporter asking him what he thought about it. And he was able to admit that he was a little worried that if it looked like he wasn’t watching there’d be some weird narrative spun about that. </p><p>So he kept tabs on them. </p><p>He kept tabs on them, took his medication on time every day, and kept his therapist up to date on his current state of emotion when he went in to see her. It kept him even-keeled at least.</p><p>But because he kept tabs on them it meant that Kyle and Scraps were too, mostly because the both of them knew the full story at this point. Jack, Jeff, the whole shebang. Carmen, as well, of course, not that she particularly cared about the NHL as a whole. Her appreciation for hockey began and ended with Scraps. Maybe Kent and Kyle if she was feeling generous, but only because they were sometimes her babysitters and in the end they all played for the Aces so it didn’t take up that much more of her energy to follow.</p><p>So, when they’d known for sure it was going to game seven Kent had relented and allowed whoever was left around Vegas after the season to come to his house for a celebration. Of what? Kent wasn’t really sure. But it was nice that he had people who cared enough to not leave him alone on the night his ex-whatever they were, was playing for the Stanley Cup.</p><p>He spends the pre-game analysis playing a board game with Alanna who gets increasingly agitated with him since he’s apparently terrible at following the rules. Just before puck drop she gives up and wanders off to either play on some digital device Scraps got her that he’s not sure the name of or to pet Kit. Likely both.</p><p>He stares at the board game for a moment before giving up on figuring out how to put it away and goes to join Jeff on the couch. There’s more than just Scraps and Kyle around, but he doesn’t entirely care who sees at this point. Management knows and they hadn’t even groused about it during his contract negotiation. Sometimes he can’t believe that the ink is dry on a contract with a no-movement clause in place.</p><p>Mostly though he figures that he doesn’t have an obligation to bare his love life to the world. They get enough of him as is, he’d like this one small thing to be at least semi-private. He’s been toying with the idea of telling the rest of the team, but his therapist doesn’t seem particularly put out that he hasn’t told the rest of them yet, so he’s been just kind of living his life and if they pick up on it they pick up on it.</p><p>He leans back into the couch before slouching over to lean against Jeff. A forehead kiss follows automatically and he immediately tenses waiting to see if anybody will say anything. When they don’t he relaxes. </p><p>The game at least, he thinks, is interesting. St. Martin gets a goal early in the first but then the Schooners manage to tie it up in the second. The third is a nail-biter with both teams getting close, but the goalies at both ends manage to keep the puck out of their respective nets leading to the game going into overtime.</p><p>“You okay?” Jeff asks, when the commentators appear on the screen after the commercials.</p><p>“Yeah, just thirsty,” he responds, heart in his throat. </p><p>It’s a close game. And he knows that he still harbors resentment towards Jack for cutting him out, but his therapist has helped him see that Jack was going through his own shit. And that maybe they just need to talk out what each of them was feeling since there was obviously a giant harbor filled with miscommunication between them by the end of it. Which, yeah, if he and Jeff are anything to go off of then he can definitely see that being the case.</p><p>He just hasn't been able to figure out how to initiate that connection again. Jack certainly doesn’t seem to care to, what with him telling reporters that it’s all in the past. And he’s got a guard dog in Mashkov now, who’d never seemed to care about slamming Kent into the boards before but is now willing to pick him up out of a scrum just because. </p><p>Well, maybe not just because, although he still holds that the goal was clean. Jeff had even thought so, and had certainly shown him how he’d felt about. The way they’d moved together slowly that night, Jeff tenderly making sure not to hurt him, careful not to brush against his bruises, still holds a spot in his top ten.</p><p>Regardless he holds his breath when the puck drops again. He’s since moved away from Jeff’s side to lean forward. Roughly five minutes into overtime Jack gets the puck and Kent just knows, even before he shoots it that it’s going to go in. Bottom left has always been a weakness of that goalie and Jack of all people would know that when he took the shot. The buzzer goes off and he’s not sure how he feels, just that something indecipherable settles over him. </p><p>A cacophony of noise welcomes him back to the room. Some people are cheering, others grumbling because they lost a bet, though Alanna’s not to be seen in the room meaning that she likely dipped to fall asleep next to Kit. Which fair, that doesn’t sound like that half bad of an idea to be honest.</p><p>“I’ll get you something to drink,” Jeff whispers into his ear and Kent nods. His throat constricts in on itself and it feels like sandpaper all of a sudden. His tongue feels flat and thick in his mouth and he can’t get it to move to make any sounds.</p>
<hr/><p>Jeff comes back with blue gatorade for Kent who sends him a quick glance of thanks before turning his attention back to the screen. He personally has one of the sparkling water things that Laney likes because she did actually get him hooked but he doesn’t want to give Kent the satisfaction of admitting that.</p><p>Carmen’s seemingly taken his spot on the couch so he goes to wander for a bit. He figures if she managed to convince him to go to therapy in the first place he can probably trust her to take care of Kent right now. The whole current boyfriend vs. ex-kind of boyfriend thing is something he’d prefer to avoid. He’s sure Zimmermann’s a good guy, but damn if he’s not a little biased towards Kent.</p><p>He joins Kyle and some new trade. He’s pretty sure he’s the veteran defenseman who came when they traded their 3rd line center who had the talent to go higher on a different team, but he might be confusing him with somebody else so Jeff only nods in hello as he joins the conversation.</p><p>“Hah...Look he just realized how heavy it is,” the trade points out.</p><p>Jeff turns towards the screen and then glances back to Kyle. They both share a look but don’t say anything. He takes a sip from the can.</p><p>“No alcohol?” Kyle asks, nodding towards the can obviously trying to change the topic of the conversation.</p><p>“Nah,” he says with a shrug. Not really willing to admit that he wants to be entirely sober tonight for whatever Kent might need.</p><p>“Shit, hoist it right up,” the trade continues. “Man,” he says, going wistful before turning lecherous again. “Back when we won. Oh God. I do not remember the next six or seven hours. You ever go blackout without falling asleep? Suddenly the sun is up and you’re just right there?”</p><p>Both him and Kyle shake their heads no. Not that the trade notices.</p><p>“It was like locker room and then it was morning. Like no time or anything. Shit.”</p><p>Jeff clears his throat. He’s never won a cup, and definitely never will, but the fact that he was there when Kent won the last one was more than enough. He smiles to himself, at least he remembers that night. And maybe there’s some melancholy attached to the night, but he can at least look back on it with fondness now that he has Kent again.</p><p>“That’s a shame, eh?” he asks. “You’re supposed to remember it.”</p><p>“Fuck you Troy, I remember everything.”</p><p>Jeff nearly spits out his drink. Nobody’s called him by just his last name in forever. It’s either Jeff or if he’s at family skate he might get a few Swoops as a throwback to when he was first introduced to the team.</p><p>Instead of commenting on that though he just goes, “You just said. Literally you just-”</p><p>Kyle snorts off to the side. “Hey, Carl.” The trade, apparently named Carl, turns towards Kyle. “You even get a shift in the cup game?” He shoots Jeff a conspirator’s smile which Jeff returns as he takes another sip.</p><p>Carl barely looks perturbed, instead laughing, “Fuck you boys.”</p><p>And then there’s a commotion around the screen, because Jack Zimmermann who could never commit to a relationship with anyone besides hockey is very passionately kissing a short blond wearing his jersey.</p>
<hr/><p>The first words Kent hears when he comes out of the shock of seeing Jack kissing the kid who he’d seen on the floor of the hockey frat is, “...Ooooh, so he’s gay or whatever? Jesus Christ.”</p><p>The room goes mostly quiet except for the tv still running in the background, now with the commentators making noise about the Zimmermann kiss.</p><p>“You know why can’t Zimmermann do anything fuckin’ regular?”</p><p>Kyle starts after that with a, “Come on, Carl…”</p><p>“Pft, relax. Did I say something wrong?”</p><p>Carmen and Scraps are on either side of him right now and he feels them both tense up almost in-sync. If he wasn’t moving in slow motion in such a surreal turn of events, he’d probably wonder why Scraps hasn’t proposed yet. But as it is he has to strain to continue to hear Carl.</p><p>“I’m saying, there’s always something with him. Prolly why it took him so long to figure out the league…” he pauses and then starts laughing. “Oh! Oh, bet he’s real excited ‘bout that parade, eh? Hah! Haha!”</p><p>Kyle cuts him off, “Go back to your glory days talk, Carly,” utilizing the nickname that Kent knows Carl hates the most. Thinks it’s too feminine or whatever.</p><p>“Right. Glory days,” he sniffs.</p><p>There’s a hand on his shoulder from somewhere behind him. By the weight he knows that it’s Jeff. And while he’s not entirely sure how he missed him moving over to behind the couch, he is glad that he has Jeff for the support. </p><p>There’s one more comment that Kent half hears about “the gays” not being fit for sports and something snaps inside of him.</p><p>“And why is that?” he asks, shaking as he stands up.</p><p>Carl shrugs, “Everyone knows they get too distracted in the locker room to produce results.”</p><p>“Zimmermann literally just won the Stanley cup,” Kyle points out.</p><p>“Fluke,” Carl responds instantly.</p><p>“He score game goal,” Scraps says with vehemence he rarely shows, standing up behind Kent.</p><p>“Like I said-”</p><p>“Do you really believe that?” Kent asks, cutting him off.</p><p>Carl shoots him a weird look. “Yeah? Don’t you.”</p><p>Kent shakes his head. “I’m gay,” he barely manages to get out, unable to stop himself. “And as your captain I need you to leave right now if that’s how you really feel.”</p><p>Carl stares at him and then bursts out laughing. “Good joke, cap.”</p><p>Kent lets out a strangled laugh in response, “Jeff’s my boyfriend.”</p><p>Carl stops laughing, “Seriously?”</p><p>Kent closes his eyes and nods his head in affirmation. </p><p>“But, but,”</p><p>“But what?” Jeff’s voice cuts through the room. “You don’t believe that Kent is gay because he’s one of the best players in the league?”</p><p>Kent doesn’t melt at the pride in his boyfriend’s voice, but it’s a close thing. </p><p>Carl doesn’t respond.</p><p>“Frankly, I’m surprised he couldn’t tell. You two are all over each other,” Carmen comments from next to him, still sitting down.</p><p>“I thought it was like gay chicken, or whatever,” he all but whines.</p><p>Carmen stands up at that. “You thought they were playing gay chicken? In what? Showing up to family skate together? Oh my God, you know what, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. You should just leave before Scraps is sicced on you.”</p><p>“Scraps?” he asks incredulously, “Scraps is barely a teddy bear.”</p><p>Kent holds his arm out to stop Scraps from moving forward. Still, he hears the growl from off to his side.</p><p>Kent takes in a deep breath again before answering, “Scraps got his nickname by starting fights as an enforcer. I would suggest you leave before he starts one right now.”</p><p>Carl goes to open his mouth but must see something that makes him decide to close his mouth. He does stop at the front door though and yell back, “We’ll see what management has to say.”</p><p>Nobody stops him when the door is closed.</p><p>“Well, that explains why Kit never liked him,” Kent manages to get out before plopping back down onto the couch, completely drained.</p>
<hr/><p>Later after everyone’s left and his phone has been put on silent since it started blowing up with people asking him his thoughts on Jack shortly after the footage went viral, he falls into bed with Jeff. He shucks off the sweatshirt, but doesn’t bother with his pants.</p><p>Jeff skims a hand along his bare back, “No shirt?” he asks.</p><p>Kent just shakes his head and tries to stop the thoughts swimming around within it. “Too hot,” he murmurs when he can finally latch onto some that make sense.</p><p>Jeff just nods before pulling him against his chest, resting his chin on the top of Kent’s head. Kent sighs as he leans in against it to listen to the beating heart, steady as ever.</p><p>“You okay?” Jeff asks.</p><p>Kent shrugs. “Mostly,” he pauses, “the rest of the team seemed okay right?” The rest of the night had kind of been a blur.</p><p>“Yeah, one of the rookies said that they have a brother who quit playing because he’s gay. Said you were a hero.”</p><p>Kent groans, “‘mnot,” he murmurs into Jeff’s shirt.</p><p>A hand comes up to run softly through Kent’s hair, “I think you are.”</p><p>Kent snorts, “Well you’re biased so-”</p><p>“So what?”</p><p>Kent pushes himself up to lean over Jeff, “So you can’t say just shit like that when you’re biased.”</p><p>“How am I biased?” Jeff asks, eyes shining with mirth.</p><p>“I mean you’re dating me so.”</p><p>Kent stares at him as Jeff goes, “Oh am I?” He leans up with a kiss before Kent can comment. “Oh right,” he says after pulling away, “now I remember.”</p><p>Kent can’t stop the laugh that falls out of him. He falls on top of Jeff when he can't hold himself up anymore. Jeff lets out an oof but begins giggling as well. When they finally calm down they fall into a soft silence, just enjoying the other’s presence.</p><p>“The team was really okay with it?” Kent finally asks, breaking it.</p><p>“Yeah, besides Carl, but he’s an asshole so.”</p><p>Kent sighs deeply. “You don’t think management will side with him right?”</p><p>Jeff takes Kent’s chin in his hand and tips it up to make eye contact. “They already know about us, right?” The <i>John included</i> going unsaid.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And you just signed a new contract with a no movement clause, right?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And he was that last minute add-on to the mid-season trade that nobody was super over the moon about, right?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Then no, I don’t think management will side with him. In fact, I don’t see a world in which they would.”</p><p>The rightness of that revelation hits Kent suddenly. He has a team that cares about him. Outsiders who do as well in Jeff, Carmen, Alanna and others that he can’t remember off the top of his head. Management even supposedly, with John being a standout in that regard. Maybe he’s not replaceable to the people that matter.</p><p>It settles something deep inside of him he’d never realized needed settling before.</p><p>“I think I’m going to call Jack soon,” he finally says into the darkness.</p><p>“Oh?” Jeff asks, the startle evident in his tone.</p><p>“Yeah, he might need some support in his corner if the media circus goes to shit.”</p><p>Jeff’s quiet for a moment and then, “And you say you’re not a hero.”</p><p>Kent doesn’t have a rebuttal to that, the dredges of sleep already starting to drag him under. Instead he just nestles further into Jeff’s side and mumbles an, “I love you” like a promise.</p><p>He’s halfway gone when he hears it but he knows that Jeff responds in kind. The words follow him down into his sleep and help provide a safe landing space. No dreams bother him as he floats along in deep rooted comfort. </p><p>When he wakes it’s before Jeff and he feels energized in a way that only a true good sleep can provide. He presses a kiss to the underside of Jeff’s jaw, waking him in the process.</p><p>“Good morning,” he breathes out softly in the glow of the morning light.</p><p>Jeff looks at him, love evident in every feature, forcing Kent to catch his breath.</p><p>“Good morning.”</p><p>Something ridiculous surges through Kent then, because it is. No matter what happens he has his friends, his family, Jeff. He has this morning. This beautiful morning that can be syrupy slow while the outside world waits.</p><p>It is good.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content/Trigger warnings:</p><ol>
<li>Mentions of therapy</li>
<li>Homophobia in the form of Carl from the comics</li>
</ol><p>So yes- this final epilogue is the bar scene where Kent sees Jack and Bitty kiss and has to deal with his homophobic teammate but revamped. But don't worry, Carl will be slapped with an NDA and handled. Kent won't be forced to play with him and management will in fact side with Kent in this matter. Not that it was shown since the story's only told from limited third person pov between Jeff and Kent, but in this verse at least, management was well aware of the rumors surrounding Kent/Jack and were fully prepared for Kent being not straight when he came to them. They also were planning on taking Kent first regardless of what happened to Jack, not because Jack wasn't a good player, but because at the time they needed a winger and not a center. </p><p>But I digress, the main point of this scene happening was to set up future things for the verse and also to do one final full circle, but this time back to chapters 11 &amp; 12. Just instead of separating and dealing with a difficult problem on their own, they'll be facing this one head on. So, growth. </p><p>As for Birdie- her and Laney live together now. I tried to make that obvious but not overly so in the chapter, so sorry if there was confusion there. And yes, I did name her Beatrice and nickname her Birdie for that single line in this chapter where Kent realized a little "Birdie" told him. </p><p>Jeff's currently in community college but will go back full time to university to become a math teacher. He loves math and his mom (not that it was shown) is a teacher. Wonder what shenanigans that could get him into?</p><p>And finally- yes you read that right, even if I don't get around to writing it out right away, Kent &amp; Jack make up in this verse &lt;3</p><p>Again thank you for reading this, from the bottom of my heart this was a labor of love and all I wanted was to write something that even one person would enjoy reading. I also really wanted more parswoops angst and decided to fill the void myself haha. The 5+1 one-shot in this verse will be uploaded within the next couple days after I edit it.</p><p>Until then, leave a comment if you desire or come talk to me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/JeanTheBookWorm">@JeanTheBookWorm</a> or on tumblr <a href="https://pinkviper.tumblr.com/">@pinkviper</a></p>
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